


Of Monsters And Men

by rationalbookworm



Series: Super Old/Abandoned Works [12]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, finally moving my most popular story from FF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rationalbookworm/pseuds/rationalbookworm
Summary: A strange ship loomed in the distance, crashing over waves as it drew closer and closer to her home. Temperance longed for adventure, for freedom. This ship, so new and exciting, could be the answer to her prayers. But at what price?Originally posted October 2013-February 2016
Relationships: Ragnar Lothbrok/Original Female Character(s), Rollo (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Super Old/Abandoned Works [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442953
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my most popular story ever, but unfortunately I always had a hard time writing it. It's a little too heavy for me, honestly. While I would love to get back into it, I probably won't ever finish it.

Rollo ducked his head as he entered the Earl’s longhouse. His brother’s home. It was still bittersweet to have such a powerful brother. One who had risen above his station while Rollo was still simply a warrior. One of the best, of course, but that didn’t stop people from overlooking him when Ragnar was in the room. The only thing that soothed the offenses was the fact that Rollo was still his brother’s best and most loyal warrior and the Earl treated him as his most trusted advisor, even if he didn’t always listen. They were still brothers, and that was what counted.

He found his brother sitting in his throne, looking around at his friends and warriors as they discussed the coming raids. Not many knew it yet, but Ragnar had made special plans for a select few. Rollo had deemed him insane, but naturally his brother had merely laughed and went off with Floki to speak of something Rollo was certain he wanted to know nothing about. Now they were gathered in his brother’s home with Ragnar looking smug as always and Floki practically bouncing with excitement beside him and all Rollo can think was, _this can’t be good_.

Ragnar stood, calling everyone to attention, “Every year, every summer we sail east in the raids. But there is an alternative.” He paused, looking out at the still, tense crowd. “This year, we sail to the west.”

There was an awful uproar at the announcement – some men yelling about the dangers, others eager to be chosen to go along. Lounging in his dark corner, Rollo forced himself not to sigh as he shouted over the noise, “Quiet!”

That one bark of command had the whole room silent in a second. Ragnar gave his brother a small nod of appreciation that only Floki could see if the madman was actually looking. The three men had been close since childhood, allowing a close connection that most could only wonder at.

The meeting became less and less entertaining after that. Rollo already knew the specifics, having discussed it at length with his brother the previous day. Floki had almost completed the ship that could sail across the sea to new lands. They would leave within the week with at most twenty men, fine warriors who could be trusted in battle in strange lands. Ragnar would only take those he most trusted. Unfortunately that naturally included Rollo, who had no desire to get lost at sea on some fool’s quest. But his brother was determined and that meant he had no choice but to follow if only to keep said brother from getting himself killed. And there was a part of him, a small part of Rollo that was just as curious as his brother, though he would never admit it. The west was something new. Something to be conquered. If they found what Ragnar hoped to find, their names would go down in history. They would always be remembered.

A bad taste settled in his mouth. No, _they_ would not be remembered. _Ragnar_ would. Who would be there to remember the men who helped him? Rollo didn’t even have a family to come back to, to be proud of him, to pass around stories of their great father or husband. All he had was his brother, and his weapons. Until now, it had always seemed enough. But suddenly in the face of his brother’s impending rise to glory, he felt inferior – a feeling he refused to bow to. He _would_ rise above this and become a far greater man. The only question was, _how?_

* * *

Temperance sat in the large window of her room, looking out over the vast sea. It had become a sort of ritual to do this every evening before bed. Sit and stare out at the sea and imagine what lands, what sort of people could lay beyond it. Her imagination however, had never been very detailed and she was forced to suffer in wandering. If only she had the means to go and look herself. Unfortunately that was not her place. (Or any woman’s place for that matter) She was the princess of Northumbria and had responsibilities to her land and her people. That included marrying and having heirs.

Her father had just told her the other night that he had found a suitable match for her. She would be married off to one of his knights, a man she’d never met before, who was away fighting some pointless battle at the moment. Honestly, she hadn’t really listened when her father described him to her. She was never one for fighting and wars and that was all her father seemed to deem worthy to speak of about her future husband.

And so her future was set out for her. She would not go out and satisfy her curiosity for the unknown. She would stay locked up in her gilded cage and marry a man she did not love and have heirs to her father’s throne. If only her brother hadn’t been killed all those years ago. Then she would have at least a little more freedom. She’d be able to leave this castle on the seaside and travel to wherever her husband lived. She wouldn’t have so much pressure to be the perfect princess and future queen. Maybe she could have been more herself.

A speck on the horizon caught the corner of her eye, drawing her attention back out the window to the sea. A small black mass was slowly making its way closer, growing bigger as it cut through the water towards the cliffs where Temperance’s castle was nestled. Excitement began to bubble up at the thought of visitors from another land. They never had that before. Everything was always closed off and secluded where they were. And even when they did have guests, Temperance wasn’t allowed to speak with them without a chaperone. But with a chaperone she couldn’t speak as freely. She could never win. Unless…

With a spark of determination, she jumped up from her seat with one last glance out the window. The ship was near enough to the shore now for her to make out the deep red sail billowed out wide as the wind pushed it forward. Assured, she hurried out the door, flying past guards and servants who were likewise rushing in other directions, too busy to heed the fleeing princess. Corridor after corridor she was not stopped as she continued to run with all her might. A stitch pierced her side and her breaths came out in ragged pants as she pushed herself forward, eager to have at least one moment with the strangers to find out as much as she could of the outside world.

Bursting out of a side door, Temperance smiled victoriously and allowed herself to slow, gasping for air. She was sure no one would stop her now, but she also didn’t wish to draw too much attention either. The courtyard had many more soldiers wandering around on a good day. Now with strangers drawing close, it seemed the bulk of her father’s army had come out in formation, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. If she stayed to the far side she should go unnoticed until she reached the main gate. Then it was only a matter of getting past the guards always stationed there. Luckily they were both rather dim and had let her past without the king’s permission before.

Just as she was about to take another step, a large hand grasped her wrist and tugged her back around. She scowled as she came face to face with the General. She probably should remember his name – he’d been the general to the army since before her father was king – but she’d always found it simpler just to call him the General. The lines on his face and his thinning gray hair belied his age even if his well-toned broad-chested body did not.

He frowned down at her, “Princess. Shouldn’t you be in your chambers at this hour?”

Temperance pointedly looked up at the bright afternoon sky, “And what hour would that be, General? I often take walks at this time.”

“Not today you don’t.” He began leading her back inside. “There are some strangers approaching by the sea. No one can recognize their ship. Until we are sure they mean no harm, you are to stay in your chambers, Your Highness.” She opened her mouth to protest only to be quickly cut off, “By order of the King.”

She huffed and yanked her arm out of his grasp before stomping back upstairs. There went her last chance to do something just for herself. Now all she had was her future marriage and children to look forward to. If that.

* * *

Desmond had risen through the ranks of King Aelle’s army quickly in the year and a half he’d been there. It is true he is still not very high in rank, but he was young and inexperience and talent could only take you so far. It did, however, make him one of the favorites of his General. That was how he came to be part of the greeting party stationed on the beach as the foreigners marched, shields and weapons in hand, through the shallow tide up onto the sand.

He couldn’t help the tingle of fear at the sight of the unkempt, dangerous looking, enormous men that made their way closer. Some had nasty looking scars proudly displayed on their faces, necks, and bare arms. There were a couple that stuck out as the most frightening – a man with a long mane of blonde hair falling to his waist and matching beard so that you could only really see his eyes, the large man with black hair and beard with a look that said he’d kill you for looking at him wrong, the thinner, more wiry man with short hair and scruff bouncing in place as if excited to be there while still fiddling with awfully sharp edged axes. But it was the one in front, the one with braided beard and hair, and eyes that held no fear and could cut glass and confident smirk, that had Desmond frozen in fear where he stood. Never had that happened before. He was a brave man, willingly running into battle whenever it was called for. So why had this man’s simple glance in his direction make him tremble like a new born calf?

The General stepped forward, shaking almost as much as the less seasoned soldiers, “What is your purpose here?”

The leader’s lips twitched as he scanned the twenty or so soldiers before him, then turned back to glance at his comrades. The wiry one and the big black haired one nodded in understanding as he turned back. Suddenly the leader raised the sword clasped in his hand high and swung down in a move almost too fast to see. Blood sprayed out as the blade passed smoothly through the General’s neck, his head flying off and rolling onto the sand a second before the body collapsed beside it.

Shock made them hesitate too long as the foreigners converged on them, weapons swinging, battle cries piercing the air. Desmond scrambled backwards, a prayer on his lips, in a desperate attempt to get away, only to fall to the ground in his haste. Looking up from the mud, he blanched and attempted to stand as the big black haired man advanced on him, smirking and cutting down the other knights as he walked, barely giving the men he killed a passing glance. A cold knot of dread settled over his heart. There was no way an inexperienced fighter like Desmond would be able to hold his own against these monsters. Knees collapsing from beneath him, the knight remained in the mud as he watched death steadily approach.


	2. Chapter 2

Temperance hid behind her the thick frilly curtains in her room. She’d been an idiot thinking that the strangers were like her own people. Now she knew the truth though. These people were monsters. They had killed the advance guard. Dozens of men lay in puddles of their own blood on the beach and in the front courtyard. They had cut through her people like they were swatting away flies. Her father had told her to run and not look back, that she could live if she just fled. A half second later the strangers had converged on the throne room and Temperance had no choice but to run through the hidden passages back to her room, where she now hid in what she knew to be a horrible hiding place. She had never felt so idiotic.

She was half-debating the merits of sprinting to a better spot when her door slammed open, bouncing back on the wall. Her hand shot up to smother a squeak of surprise as she stood trembling in fear. Footsteps shuffled around as whoever had entered ruffled through her things, occasionally tossing things aside. Gathering what little courage she had left, Temperance glanced around the edge of the curtain to see a tall, lean man with cropped light hair and two small axes attached to his belt facing the opposite direction as he fiddled with some of the loose paper she used for letters. He looked almost confused as he sniffed it and tried to take a bite.

Biting her lip, she came to a decision. While the man had his back to her, she slipped out of her shoes silently and bolted for her bed, falling to the ground and rolling under with very little sound. She congratulated herself on her daring, though this hiding spot wasn’t much better, she at least felt less exposed. Some part of her childhood must have still lingered, telling her she was safe in the dark hidden place under her bed.

Her childhood lied. Not a second after she had settled a rough hand reached under and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her out roughly. She screamed in part agony, part terror. If they were willing to decimate an entire army of men, what were they willing to do to women? The thought chilled her to the bone and had her lashing out at her captor. He didn’t seem fazed by it whatsoever, easily grabbing her around the waist, holding down her arms until she tired herself out some. Then he promptly tossed her over his shoulder like she’d seen some of the peasants in town do to sacks of potatoes. She screeched and pounded at the well-muscled, lean back as he casually strolled out of her room and down the corridor. Twisting her head, she sucked in a breath, ready to shout for help, when she spotted something that made her gag on a sob. Bodies of guards and servants were tossed carelessly about the floor, some pushed to the side to make room. Blood pooled around and under them, glistening in what little light managed to stream in from the setting sun. She clapped both of her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Even if he was a stranger intent on killing her, the man was the only breathing person she could draw comfort from at the moment. Burying her face against his back she allowed herself to cry for the loss of all these people she’d hardly known.

* * *

Ragnar slouched in the throne of the whimpering fool kneeling in front of him. How had such a simpleton become king over a great kingdom? It _had_ been a great kingdom; even Ragnar had to admit that. And yet it still was no match for him and his men. They had easily cut through their defenses and taken over the castle. The king had willingly allowed them to remove his crown and toss him aside.

“It was almost too easy,” Rollo growled, echoing his brother’s thoughts as he sank down to sit on the steps leading to the throne, directly in front of the once-king. The man let out another whimper of distress at Rollo’s hard, bloodthirsty features.

“Don’t kill him too soon, Brother,” Ragnar chuckled. “He may be of use to us yet.”

Rollo grunted and stood as heavy footsteps and feminine crying grew louder in the hall. The king’s eyes widened in horror and he shook his head. Ragnar leaned forward in curiosity. He wanted to ask if the king knew who was wailing so heartbreakingly, but it’d be useless. It seemed this people didn’t speak the same language as him. Annoying. How was he supposed to communicate if no one understood him? He was going to have to take a slave or two back to teach him the language before the next raid. His men had already loaded up half the boat full of treasure. The other half could hold a dozen or so small men. They had a few tied up in the courtyard, ready to be moved whenever Ragnar ordered.

Floki made his reappearance then, grinning madly as per usual. He had disappeared when they entered the castle and no one had spotted him since. Ragnar hadn’t worried. Floki had a tendency to run off on his own often and come back with some of the finest treasure, or an amazing new discovery. It seemed he hadn’t failed this time, either. A woman in fine clothing was tossed over his shoulder, limp from exhaustion but still managing to weep. Brown curls, smooth as silk, were just visible behind Floki. She was small compared to the man holding her, fragile looking.

Suddenly the king roared in anger, spewing some more of his smooth, rolling language as he attempted to rush Floki. Rollo caught him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back, sending him sprawling on the ground. The woman seemed to have recognized the king’s voice. She began pounding on Floki’s back, shouting wordlessly as she struggled to get away.

Ragnar looked between the king and the woman, a thought coming to mind. They looked awfully similar. His daughter perhaps? A smirk played at the corners of his lips. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Rollo sat back down on the steps as Floki dumped his charge onto the ground. The young woman quickly scrambled to the old king’s side, cradling his head in her lap as they murmured to each other in their strange language. They were clearly related. Perhaps a father and daughter. Or niece and uncle. He mentally shrugged. What did it matter? They were both going to die anyway. They were the rulers of this kingdom. They couldn’t be allowed to live. He turned to see what his brother planned on doing, only to see a familiar spark in crystal blue eyes. He bit back a groan. What insanity was his brother thinking up now?

Ragnar stood slowly – a bit over dramatically in Rollo’s opinion – and made his way to the dethroned rulers. He crouched down to their level and stared directly into the woman’s eyes. For her part, she didn’t look away or back down, simply clutched tighter to her father and stared back defiantly. Rollo’s eyebrow rose in surprise. For someone so small and fragile, she showed a lot of bravery. He knew from experience how intimidating Ragnar’s stare could be.

His brother reached forward, clearly intending to grab the woman and pull her away, only to have her lash out. Fingers curled like claws, the woman scratched at Ragnar’s face, practically spitting in her fury. Ragnar jerked away in surprise, raising a hand to dab at the tiny rivulet of blood falling down his cheek from the thin cut. His smile turned predatory as his hand flashed out and caught her arm. He stood, dragging her with him and nodded to Rollo. Understanding, Rollo smiled, already reaching for his sword.

The king began to shout as Rollo marched forward, face stern. The sword held tightly in his hand had been with him since he was a lad. It had belonged to his father, one of the few things he left behind in this world. It was the same sword he had used to train with as a boy, alongside Ragnar and Floki. It was the same sword Floki’s younger sister Lifa had stolen and hidden when she was angry that none of the boys would allow her to train with them. He had eventually agreed, if for nothing else than to get his weapon back.

It had been years since Lifa had left, off to travel the world on her own. She had always talked about going, not to raid and pillage, but simply to learn and experience new things. No one had understood it, especially not Rollo, but no one could deny how her eyes brightened at the mere thought of traveling. So no one was surprised when one day, a few weeks after her father’s funeral, she had disappeared, a pack with her things gone as well. Floki had shrugged and said she would return when she was ready. Rollo had been the only one concerned. The little twerp had grown on him and he was worried she would get hurt. Even being one of the best shield maidens in their village didn’t make her impervious to attacks. She had always been a little thing, almost delicate in appearance. He couldn’t help but feel protective of her.

The woman now standing in Ragnar’s tight grasp reminded him of that, but worse. It was clear this woman didn’t have the muscles that came with hard work and training. She was small and defenseless. She had brown curly hair and wide light brown eyes that were noting like Lifa’s long blonde locks and blue green eyes. But even still, he couldn’t help but see the girl he had grown up with, standing there trembling in fear, waiting for some faceless enemy to kill her. His lip curled at the image, fury pulsing through him as he lifted his arm and swung his sword. There was a satisfying gurgle as he pulled back and blindly struck again and again, the woman’s screams echoing off the stone walls.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood. Lots and lots of blood. Red painted the sands of a small seaside English kingdom. Lifa had traveled all over and had seen many battles. England waged war just as any other country did, but never had she seen it this brutal. In fact, all this blood and gore reminded her much more of home and her brother Floki. Of Ragnar and Rollo and raids in the east.

Picking her way carefully through the bodies, the blonde woman walked the edge of the sea until she stumbled across exactly what she was looking for. The familiar styled ship was pulled up onto the sand, the sea brushing under it but unable to pull it away. The red sail was pulled up, keeping it from flapping in the wind. The sound of clinking metal came from inside, drawing her closer. She called out wordlessly, in the habit that all warriors did when they were announcing their presence to an ally. Silence fell as a man emerged from the deck and squinted down at her. He looked familiar, but it had been many years since she’d been home or seen one of her own people. She didn’t want to insult him by calling him the wrong name.

“Lifa?” the deep voice called incredulously.

“Yes,” she called back, dropping her heavy pack from her shoulders. “I didn’t realize Earl Haraldson was willing to send raiders to the west.”

“Haraldson is dead,” he told her bluntly, jumping down into the sand beside her as she racked her brain for his name.

“This is news. Who has replaced him?”

A small smirk graced his features, “Earl Ragnar is now ruling.”

“Ragnar?” even the smallest amount of formality fell away at her shock. “Ragnar Lothbrok?”

He chuckled lightly, his small smile revealing one of his front teeth chipped almost all the way to the gum. _Now_ she knew him. She remembered how at thirteen she was still so much smaller than anyone else, still the fragile little bird. She remembered Asgeir, one of the largest boys their age, had decided to tease her for it. After a few weeks of dealing with the harsh words and shoves, Lifa had finally broken down and gone to her brother for help. Floki in turn had gone to Ragnar and Rollo, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take on the older boy on his own. Rollo, who had grown quite fond of the young girl, had taken it personally and confronted Asgeir. One thorough beating later, Asgeir had a permanently chipped tooth and Rollo gained a devote follower…until she grew old enough to find her own mind. They had stayed close, as close as she was with Floki and Ragnar, but she had quickly realized Rollo was just as selfish as his brother, though they were both just as protective over their family. It seemed to even out some.

A call similar to the one she’d shouted earlier interrupted them, making them turn towards the castle in the distance. Lifa squinted into the setting sun to see a long line of bulky figures weaving down the shoreline. As they grew nearer she began to recognize certain shapes. The shorter, but muscular one leading the way. The tall massive one half a step behind. The lean one dancing along the line playfully, probably giggling as he teased the others. She shook her head. Some things never changed.

She called back to them and the three heads she’d been drawn to snapped up. She heard her brother’s full laugh as he ran up the line to her side, scooping her up into a hug and twirling her around to make her laugh. When he set her down again she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and turned to the others. Most of the men knew her on sight and nodded to her in greeting before loading their hoard onto the boat. Ragnar, who had been leading the raiders along with his brother, however, had stopped a few feet away, an amused smirk on his face.

“Ragnar,” she greeted, moving to give him a hug as well. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Rollo scoffed, causing her to turn to him next. She tilted her head up to look him in the eye. Had he always been that tall? Most men were naturally taller than her tiny frame, but it was absurd how much he towered over her. His dark hazel eyes hooded as he gazed back down at her, revealing nothing of his emotions. That just wouldn’t do. Lifa stretched up on her toes before he could stop her and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as she lifted herself up and allowed herself to dangle against him. She felt him sigh in exasperation, refusing to return the embrace as he stood there stiffly.

“I refuse to release you until you give me a hug,” she told him petulantly.

He sighed again and without a word, turned towards the ship with her still dangling on his front. Floki and Ragnar laughed as her feet swung slightly with the movement, making her grin into his shoulder. As much as she had loved traveling, she had missed this easy camaraderie. It would be good to go home.

* * *

Temperance stood off to one side, not quite part of the men they were taking, but still tied up at the wrists like them. The leader, the blonde with shockingly blue eyes, never let her stray far from him, keeping a tight grasp on the end of the rope that was secured to her bindings. He had seemed shocked to find the small woman with long blonde hair waiting for them by the odd looking ship. The woman had smiled when the crazy man who had originally taken Temperance pulled her into the biggest hug the Princess had ever seen. She blushed slightly and looked down. She had never had a relationship as open as that. Even with her family. It wasn’t proper. In private, maybe, but not standing on an exposed beach surrounded by men and dead bodies.

A soft lilting voice brought her eyes back up. The blonde was hugging the man holding the rope, smiling at him before turning to the large scary one who had murdered the king without hesitation. The warrior stared her down for a minute before she launched herself at him, clinging to his neck as the others laughed. The man sighed with a small smile tugging at his lips and turned to the ship, easily climbing aboard even with the woman firmly attached to him.

The laughing crazy man shook his head and bent to gather up a pack that lay in the sand. The leader spoke to him quietly before tugging on the rope, signaling Temperance to follow him. She did so quietly. All her courage and fight had drained out of her as she watched the big man kill her father. She had nothing left. Her family, her home. Everything she’d ever known was lost to her now. She had no choice but to silently follow these barbarians, and pray to God to keep her safe.

* * *

Lifa settled back on the pile of treasure with a sigh, pretending it didn’t dig into her back painfully. A pair of long toned legs framed her as her brother, perched atop a chest of gold, carefully pulled her hair into small braids. The others, used to the pair’s oddities, ignored them in favor of steering them home. The handful of male slaves tied up against the mast gave them sidelong looks of disdain and fear while the female Ragnar had taken for himself stared openly.

Lifa stared back, wondering at the wide-eyed look she received. The brunette woman was clearly afraid (especially of Floki) but had set that aside in favor of ogling the only other woman onboard. She supposed it was odd, seeing one so small easily falling in with the large warriors around them. Judging by her clothing, Lifa guessed the woman was nobility of some sort in England. She wouldn’t be any good as a slave. At least not the working kind. And Ragnar never seemed the sort to take a slave just to warm his bed.

“Ragnar,” Lifa called, careful not to turn her head and disrupt her brother’s work. “Why did you take the woman?”

Just within her line of sight she could see Rollo heave a great sigh and roll his eyes, turning to stare out at the sea, “Because he is a great fool.”

Some of the men chuckled, including Ragnar who promptly settled down beside her, twisting until his head lay in her lap. She tilted her head down slightly, eyeing him as he smirked up at her.

“Lifa, my love,” he teased lightly. He hardly ever was like this unless he was in an amazingly good mood. A successful raid and capture of slaves must have been enough to set it off. “Why do you ask?”

She shook her head lightly as her brother giggled, dropping her hair in favor of going to the food storage and collecting a snack. Lifa looked back at the terrified girl, “She is not made for slave work.”

“Ah,” Ragnar flipped over to his hands and knees, leaning forward so his face hovered inches from her own. She refused to back away however, merely gazing unamusedly back at him. “But she is not for slave labor at all.” He grinned impishly, reminding her of Floki for a moment, “I intend to make her my wife.”

Lifa’s eyes widened in disbelief as Ragnar continued to grin. She turned to his brother, hoping to see a confirmation that this was in fact a joke. Rollo frowned at her, his displeasure radiating at his brother. Her eyes went back to the woman cowering against the mast. She may be a fine princess in England, but she was no Earl’s wife.

She shook her head, “Rollo was right.” At Ragnar’s questioning look she clarified, “You are a fool.”


	4. Chapter 4

He had been on dozens of battlefields, had seen more dead bodies than he cared to remember, but none of that compared to the carnage he stumbled upon when returning to Northumbria. Cenred was one of the best knights in the King’s army. He was in charge of dozens of men. He was a great favorite of the King and was promised to the Princess. One day, he would rule this kingdom. Or at least he was going to, until some monsters came and tore it all away. They killed his king, from her absence amongst the bodies he could only assume they’d taken his princess, his betrothed.

“Sir,” one of his men interrupted his glaring at the empty throne.

“What did you find?” he asked without turning.

“There are signs of a ship having been docked on the shore. Just one ship. Not very big. It couldn’t have held more than…a dozen and a half men. How could so few cause all this, sir?”

“Whoever they are, they are savages,” Cenred turned to glare at the younger man. “They came to our kingdom. They killed our king. They took our princess. They will pay for what they have done.”

“But…sir…” the man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under his superior’s heavy gaze. “We have no way of knowing where they have gone.”

He took a deep breath to reign in his temper, moving toward the large window overlooking the sea where the monsters had come from, “These barbarians are greedy. We can tell as much at how they raided our king’s treasure. They will return for another kingdom’s gold, and when they do, we’ll be ready for them.”

* * *

“So she’s going to be your wife.”

Ragnar sighed, “We have already discussed this Lifa.”

“So why is she tied up?” Lifa asked innocently, blue green eyes never leaving the other woman from where she was sitting on the ground in the middle of the deck.

Ragnar paused in cleaning his weapon to gape at her, “What?”

“She’s tied up,” her hand motioned to where all the Englishmen were tied up against the main mast, including the future Earl’s wife. “How is she supposed to do the things a wife is supposed to do if she can’t even move?”

Floki started giggling at her odd question and even Rollo snorted in amusement (a victory in itself) while Ragnar simply sighed again.

“It’s just a question,” Lifa shrugged, pulling a dagger from her boot to clean out the dirt that had gathered under her nails.

“Is this your way of asking me to cut her loose?”

“No,” she turned her head to grin at the Earl. “This is my way of telling you I’m going to.”

Floki nearly toppled out of the ship from his perch at the front, he was laughing so hard. Asgeir was fortunately able to latch onto his sleeve before he could and tugged him back upright. Lifa grinned at her brother before scooting across the deck to where the other woman was huddled in on herself, trying to keep warm as the harsh winds coming off the sea whipped around them. She was about the same height as Lifa, but more slender with less obvious muscles. With her legs curled into her chest and her arms tightly banded around them while her wrists remained tied, she looked even smaller, younger. Lifa’s heart was far from cold and hard. The child-like woman immediately gained all of her sympathy in this situation.

“It’s alright,” Lifa told her with a reassuring smile, easily slipping into the other woman’s native tongue. “I won’t hurt you.”

Light brown eyes widened comically as the Englishwoman gaped at her, “You speak English?!”

Lifa blinked in confusion as the woman’s voice had an overlaying echo. Ragnar had unknowingly said exactly the same thing at the same time in their own tongue. The blonde looked over her shoulder to roll her eyes at the Earl.

“You are an imbecile,” she told him, making him frown. “I’ve traveled many places, including England – where you found me. Of course I can speak her language.”

“You can’t speak to me that way any longer, Lifa. I am Earl now. You must show me respect.”

Rollo rolled his eyes.

“You are also a pain in my ass,” Lifa said in English making the woman’s eyes widen again as she bit her lip against a smile.

“What did you say? That sounded like an insult.” Ragnar pushed to his feet slowly making his way over to the women. It was all for show, Lifa knew. Ragnar had never cared about position or rank when it concerned the four of them. He simply didn’t want to look bad in front of the other men. She looked back at the Englishwoman who had cringed back in fear of Ragnar’s false anger. A plan formed in her mind that would gain the woman’s trust while putting Ragnar back in his place. And it would be fun for her.

With a flick of her wrist, the knife she’d intended to use to cut the woman’s bindings was sent flying, landing with a thud followed by a howl of pain. Lifa turned to check where exactly it had landed. She hadn’t really aimed, but knew it would hit her target somehow. Ragnar really was angry now. The knife had embedded in the floor of the ship – _after_ going through Ragnar’s foot. Floki was nearly hysterical with laughter and Rollo was rubbing his eyes tiredly, too used to their antics to be truly amused any longer.

She turned her back on them again as the Earl yanked the dagger from his foot. Idly she wondered if he’d still have a limp when they docked back home. Her attention was brought back to the matter at hand when she noticed the other woman’s awed gaze directed to her.

She gave a wry grin, “What’s your name?”

The woman’s mouth open and closed several times before she swallowed and forced out, “Temperance. My name is Temperance.”

* * *

The blonde woman – Lifa, she was called – had untied her with a second dagger she pulled out of her boot. She was gentle as she soothed the red marks on her wrists, almost like a mother taking care of their child. She had even stood up to the leader for a woman she had never met, for a slave. Temperance wasn’t stupid. She knew what she was to these men, but the woman seemed different, comforting her with a few gentle words of introduction and teasing to the men around them. She made it seem like everything would be alright, that the men wouldn’t harm her. But Temperance _wasn’t stupid_. She wouldn’t be fooled by the woman’s soft spoken words.

The quiet moment was ruined when a shadow fell across their faces. Temperance shrunk against the wooden pillar at her back but Lifa merely grinned and tilted her face up to the raging man behind her. The leader snarled down at them, saying something in their harsh tongue that had the woman’s grin widening. The other man, the one that murdered her father, stepped forward and squeezed the leader’s shoulder with a large hand. He spoke more quietly than the others, but his voice had a hard edge that kept people from interrupting him. Lifa shook her head and pushed herself to her feet. Her small hands found her hips as she stared the men down, keeping her tiny frame in between them and Temperance. The leader scoffed and, shrugging out from under the other man’s grasp, stomped away. The man eyed Lifa with something Temperance would like to label as affection, but surely one so cruel couldn’t feel an emotion so pure. Lifa just smiled up at him briefly before plopping back down to sit cross-legged in front of Temperance.

“Sorry about that,” Lifa switched easily to English as though she’d been doing it for years, and waved the murderer away. He rolled his eyes as he turned to join the leader again, completely ignoring the Englishwoman. “Ragnar’s ego can occasionally take over his common sense.”

Temperance said nothing as a shiver ran through her body. The freezing wind was harsh out in the open sea and part of her wished to get to wherever they were going just to get away from the cold, but as far she knew their home was just as bad. All the men around her – and Lifa, she added – were well equipped with multiple layers and furs while she was wearing nothing but her thin day dress. She supposed she was lucky a storm hadn’t picked up and soaked her to the bone.

“Here,” Lifa said, shrugging out of her thick fur coat. She leaned forward to wrap it around the other woman’s shoulders despite the weak protests. “Can’t have you freezing to death.”

“Why?” Temperance muttered as she tugged the fur closed around her body. She couldn’t deny that the lingering body heat was one of the most wonderful things she’d felt in a long time. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

Lifa sighed sadly, “You don’t understand anything that has happened, do you?”

“I understand,” Temperance said defiantly, her chin jutting out. Lifa smiled at the sight. “I understand they killed my people and took me as a slave. I understand _that one_ stabbed my father over and over for no reason other than he was king.” She closed her eyes briefly to beat back the sobs that threatened to spill from her mouth. Her father would want her to stay strong, to not show more weakness than necessary to her captors. When she opened her eyes again she was staring into swirling blue green eyes, anger rolling off the other woman like the storm Temperance had been wary of.

“Tell me they did not kill him in front of you,” her usually soft voice had hardened, taking on a bite that almost made Temperance shiver in fear. She was thankful it wasn’t directed _at_ her but _for_ her.

“He did,” she nodded sharply, refusing to lie even if it meant some sort of punishment for showing the men in a harsh light. She wasn’t sure if that was something they would do, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

Lifa’s lip curled in disgust, “I’ll be right back. There’s something I need to take care of.”

Temperance watched wide-eyed as the blonde shot to her feet and yelled something in their strange tongue, snatching a stray sword that was laying nearby as she went after the one who murdered a king. The leader grinned at the sight of a fight suddenly breaking out while the other men moved to the edges of the boat, giving the two plenty of room.

The fight was quick and to the point. Lifa yelled what was most likely the man’s offense while slashing at him, managing to nick his arm and cut down his left cheek deep enough to scar. The man snarled at her, lunging until he was able to wrap his large arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Lifa struggled as he dipped his head, whispering something in her ear that made her freeze and blink up at him. The sword clattered to the floor as she sagged in his arms, burying her face in his chest. The affectionate gesture was not lost on Temperance, who was more than shocked at the display. She was sure these monsters weren’t capable of that. She never been more delighted to be proven wrong as one of the man’s hands rose to smooth out the blonde’s ruffled locks.


	5. Chapter 5

The stars blinked down at them as they gently rocked in the waves. Temperance was resting against her, wrapped up in the coat she’d given her earlier that day. Lifa had commandeered Rollo’s own coat to use as a blanket soon after their small skirmish. It was a small price to pay since her anger had deflated after his whispered confession.

“ _It was you. I saw you in her and I could not stand the thought of you being captured._ ”

It was still no excuse for killing the woman’s father in front of her. In fact, it should have been more of a reason _not_ to do it, but Rollo wasn’t the most logical creature in the world. His emotions, whether he be upset or excited, usually manifested in some sort of violence. The king and princess were merely unfortunately enough to be the only enemy within arm’s reach when he’d been hit with the fear of what could happen to her while she was out of his protection.

She shivered at the thought, wrapping the coat more firmly around her. Memories she had tried to suppress threatened to overwhelm her as she shrunk against the mast. Part of her wondered if it had played out differently if she had taken one of her brothers with her when she ran off to explore. They would have protected her, that was simple enough, but would she have willingly chosen to gone home if that had happened. After all, it was that monster that had made her long to return sooner rather than later. She had been looking for a way to return when she’d ran into Asgeir at the ship. Being around her people again was like a balm to the wound, but it still wouldn’t heal. She was more herself here, with a new chasm in her mind and heart that wouldn’t go away until she told someone. She knew this, but that didn’t make it any easier to do.

She looked around at her companions. Temperance was a sweet girl, kind hearted as far as Lifa could tell. However, just her reactions to everything around her made it obvious she wouldn’t know how to handle something like what had happened to the blonde. More than likely, it would only make the situation worse for the both of them. Ragnar, though a wonderful older brother on his good days, was far too focused on himself and his newfound wealth to really listen to whatever she had to say. Even something like this. Floki…she couldn’t even contemplate telling him. Not only would it be awkward and embarrassing, but she wouldn’t be able to face the shame of admitting how she had ran. He wouldn’t judge her for it, but as his only family (besides his wife) it was her duty to keep their honor intact. Running without getting her revenge would tarnish it almost beyond repair. No, she couldn’t admit this to her brother.

Her blue-green gaze landed on the slouched form of Rollo as he stared unseeingly out into the ocean. She tilted her head in consideration. The warrior wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t even tell the others, understanding that it was something she’d want to keep between them. He would help her heal and make her feel protected again. He was doing that already, although he didn’t know it. She nodded to herself, resolute.

His head snapped to her as she carefully stood, readjusting Temperance so the girl wouldn’t fall over as she moved away. Her followed her with his eyes as she picked her way around sleeping forms while balancing against the gentle rocking of the ship. She settled down next to him, pressing into his side with a small sigh. Her head automatically found his shoulder and she tilted it back to look him in the eye.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

He just stared down at her, expression unreadable. He was like that. Not liking to show even an ounce of emotion. Every so often he would crack when it was just the two of them. But with so many of his brothers-in-arms around, he would keep his face blank, just in case. He didn’t want to seem weak.

Finally he turned away, “Abandoning your new friend?”

“Coming to see an old one,” She murmured, nuzzling his arm until he lifted it for her. She curled into his body, secretly delighting in the scent that always wafted off him. Leather, sweat, and musk with just a hint of something that was quintessentially _Rollo_. It made her heart rate pick up even while her eyes drooped and she sank further into his side. She felt more than heard his light chuckle as she cuddled against him.

“Go to sleep, Lifa,” he mumbled, his hand steadily rubbing up and down her arm in a soothing motion.

“Wanted to talk,” she breathed, her head falling to rest on his chest.

“Later,” he answered just as quietly.

She hummed in agreement, finally allowing her eyes to slip closed. The memories had been pushed back by the warrior’s presence alone, as if they were afraid of him, allowing her to float into unconsciousness more easily than she had in years.

* * *

Temperance blinked awake with a violent shiver as a strong gust of icy wind hit her. Had she forgotten to close her window? Her heart stuttered in fear as she discovered, not her bedroom as her sleep-fogged mind had thought, but the deck of a painfully familiar ship. She was propped up against the mast with Lifa’s coat bunched around her hips where it had fallen. And if she remembered correctly, the other woman had been beside her when she had managed to drift off. She felt so much more exposed without the blonde woman, the one person who had stood up for her since she’d been taken, at her side.

Her eyes almost frantically searched the deck until they landed on a couple tucked into a corner at the front of the ship, hidden behind a big enough pile of riches to give them the illusion of privacy. The shock of blonde hair glinted in the moonlight though most of her body was hidden behind the large specimen of man beside her. The monster was practically gentle with the woman as he wrapped his arms around her, smoothing the hair from her sleeping face. It was a completely different image than the one in Temperance’s mind.

She turned her head away as she shuddered at the thought of that murders hands on her. She didn’t understand how the blonde could stand to be around any of these men. Then again, she had been more than capable of violence, though she used it differently. Temperance wondered if she would see their actions as they did if she had been raised as they were but quickly discarded the thought. As kind as Lifa had been, Temperance didn’t want to be like any of them. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to go home. She wanted her father back.

Tears began to stream down her cheek and she bit her lip to keep the sobs at bay. Crying, she knew, wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring back her father. It wouldn’t magically teleport her back to her kingdom (or what was left of it). It wouldn’t make it so these people, these monsters, had never landed on their shores. And yet, she couldn’t stop the salt water from falling over her reddened cheeks. One shaky hand flew to her mouth to help muffle the cries she couldn’t quite keep in any longer. She felt trapped, caged within the ship, the situation she had no control over.

Lifa had managed to explain a few things after the small fight she’d had with the leader. Temperance was expected to marry that brute in their way, not hers. Her traditions wouldn’t even be considered. She had been taken to be their Earl’s wife an bare his children, to watch over his people whenever he left for more raids like the one he had waged on her people. She would be the Queen in their eyes. She had always known she would rule, but not like this. She couldn’t do _this_.

She stood faster than she intended. Not having been able to swallow any of the food they’d offered her and only taken the minimal amount of water since she’d been stolen, she swayed with dizziness as she leaned against the pole at her back. More slowly, so as not to fall in a fainting spell, she stumbled her way to the edge of the ship, looking out over the dark crashing waves, glinting stars, and bright moon. It was beautiful, perfect. It would be the last thing she ever saw.

Her hands shook as she gripped the railing and pushed herself up, her bare feet slipping a little on the slick wood. Sea spray hit her exposed skin, making shivers rack her body with newfound intensity. She trembled and swayed as she slowly straightened, almost tumbling into the sea before she was standing tall. She looked once more out to the scene in front of her. Back home, she had once tried to imagine adventures like this. Being swept away by foreigners to a new and exciting land. She had never wanted _this_ though. It was too much.

She closed her eyes, cutting off the entire world as her mind went blissfully blank of all troubling thoughts. She thought of home, of her father. Heaven would be lost to her, she would never see her father again, but she saw no other way out of this situation. With a deep steadying breath, she lifted one foot to step forward into oblivion. Having never learned to swim, it wouldn’t be long before the violent waves dragged her under and kept her there.

What she never expected was two large, strong hands clapping over her hips and yanking her back, her feet flying into the air as she tried to fight her way back to the ocean.

“NO!” she screeched, sure she had woken most of the ship with her high-pitched yell. “NO! PLEASE!”

Arms banded around her, holding her upright against a firm chest as her knees gave out and sobs shook her frame. She refused to turn to face her captor, instead covering her face with her hands as she wept. When the tears had slowed and faded to quiet sniffles and whimpers, she came back to herself, realizing she was still being held against someone. Someone distinctly male. She gasped, pushing back with her elbows as she tried to struggled against whoever had her only to be spun around. The hands clamped onto her shoulders to hold her somewhat still an she gazed up angrily at the intense blue eyes of the leader, her future husband.


	6. Chapter 6

The fight drained from her body unwillingly. His grip on her shoulders was firm, but not bruising like she thought it ought to be for one of his kind. Tears still stung her eyes but none fell. She had cried far too much in the past hours to be able to shed any more. Instead she weakly pushed against the man’s chest, hoping to be able to sink to the ground like the pathetic creature she was. If he wouldn’t allow her the freedom to take her life, then she wished to crumble in despair in peace.

He seemed to think otherwise however, pulling her roughly closer and forcing her to look up into his eyes. Her hands were still on his chest, now squished between their bodies as he stared down at her tearstained face. Before she had time to react, time to stop him (as if she could), lips were crashing against her, bruising in their force. She whimpered lightly, hands pressing against the giant expanse of chest in front of her, all for naught. His tongue quickly joined the fray, pushing past her lips as if she weren’t scrabbling to get away.

Finally, with a burst of strength she didn’t know she had within her, she pulled back, her hands gaining freedom long enough for her to draw back and swing her open palm forward. It connected with his cheek with a deafening crack, reverberating in the air around them. If any soul had been able to sleep through all the noise from before, they surely couldn’t have slept through that.

He released her in his surprise, allowing her to stumble back and fall down against the railing she had been standing on not too long ago. She slumped to the ground, curling her legs up to her chest in a feeble attempt to shield herself. Her future husband stared down at her, eyes wide with one hand pressed to his cheek. She stared back defiantly. Despite the fear pulsing through her, she refused to be seen any weaker than she already had. If he was going to force her to live and live with him, he’d take her as she was. A slow smirk spread across his face, his eyes twinkling in amusement. He let out a small chuckle that had her trying not to cower away, her resolve to not be weak still staying strong.

Slowly he turned away from her, returning to his place at the front of the ship. She watched warily as he settled back under his fur blankets for the rest of the night. He turned over and moved no more. Temperance waited a few minutes before she dared look around, curious as to why no one had made a sound during their struggle, only to find all the men still fast asleep. How had they not awoken? Or had they, and they simply chose to ignore whatever their leader was doing in favor of sleep they surely didn’t come by easily during raids. She swung her head around to where she knew her one ally had been sleeping, only to make eye contact with the one person she dreaded seeing all of that confrontation.

The large man was still cradling Lifa against his chest like he held a precious jewel, but his sharp eyes were trained on her, no ounce of pity, curiosity, or even anger. They were flat, dead, as though she didn’t matter, didn’t count. In that moment, she knew, he had been awake through that whole thing, had seen her about to jump into the sea and had done nothing. Because he didn’t care whether or not she lived.

His gaze didn’t waver until she physically cringed away, suddenly afraid to die if it meant dying at that man’s hand. She needed a safe harbor, somewhere she could fool herself into thinking she was hidden safely away from those piercing, cold eyes. But the sole person who would be willing to give that to her was currently curled around the enemy’s side, sleeping peacefully. Temperance had never felt so exposed in her life.

Mentally she went through the other inhabitants of the ship, discarding every one, only lingering momentarily on the one who seemed to be related to Lifa somehow. He seemed gentler than the others, but at the same time much more dangerous. The gentleness was a mask, luring in his prey before he shredded them to pieces. He was the one to bring her to the leader, after all. It was essentially his fault that she was here. She couldn’t trust him.

But what did that leave her? She needed someone here, someone she could trust with her life. Lifa was fine, but it was clear where her priorities lie. Temperance needed someone who would look out for her, and she dreaded the answer to that. Because she knew exactly who was the only individual willing to look out for her, even when she refused to look out for herself.

Swallowing what little pride she retained, she pushed herself to her feet, only to trip and crumble back to the ground with a small cry that got lost on the wind. A sharp pain radiated from her ankle, telling her she had fallen wrong. It was probably sprained at the very least. She’d sprained her ankle once before when she was a child playing in the woods near her father’s hunting cabin. She remembered the agonizing week spent locked inside with her foot elevated. She hadn’t been allowed to play at all, and the few times she’d tried to walk on her own, pain had shot through her leg, forcing her to sit back down. This time, she doubted these people would be willing to allow her to rest her foot. She’d probably be forced to walk on it, pain or no.

Looking up through her lashes, she saw that man, the killer, still watching her, expressionless. She turned away quickly, biting her lip against the throbbing pain. It seemed fate refused to leave even a shred of dignity for her to cling to. She forced herself to push her body across the deck on her butt. Luckily there was a clear path to her reluctantly chosen destination.

The leader didn’t even twitch as she collapsed next to him, his back facing her. His breathing was slow and even, signaling that he slept deeply. Temperance glanced over her shoulder, glad when she could no longer see that man from her position. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She sagged in relief, curling up on the floor and hoping to catch a few more minutes sleep before she was forced to rejoin these savages for whatever they deigned to call breakfast.

Her eyes had just slipped shut when they flew open once more at the feeling of a wide warm palm settling on her stomach and dragging her back into an equally warm chest. Her hands clawed at the deck below her, trying to stop herself from being pulled in, only for the man behind her to chuckle lightly and tug her closer. She could feel all of him along the line of her back. He manhandled her into position, tucking his arm under her head for her to use as a pillow and tangling their legs together so she had no chance of escape. When he was comfortable, he settled his arm around her once more, his fingers gently rubbing circles on the flat plane of her stomach that was both soothing and distracting. Little bolts of electricity jerked her muscles at the sensation, making her cheeks blaze with embarrassment. It didn’t help that his hot breath would occasionally blow against the side of her neck, disturbing the curls resting there.

Once his fingers stopped moving, and his breathing once more evened out, Temperance very carefully began to extricate herself from his embrace, only for his arm to tighten around her again. She huffed in exasperation after the third failed attempt. He was determined to keep her there while he slept and she was helpless against him. There was little chance she would sleep any more that night. She couldn’t allow herself to relax while in her enemy’s grasp. He may have been the lesser of two evils, but that hardly made him safe to be around.

“Shh,” he breathed into her ear, making her shiver. He murmured something in his language she didn’t understand, but his tone was soothing as if he meant no harm. Despite her mind screaming that it was a trick, her body relaxed, leaning into his chest as though she had no control over it whatsoever. Her eyes drooped when she felt him bury his face into the back of her neck, breathing in deeply. The last thing she heard before she dropped off into oblivion was a light manly chuckle vibrating against the back of her neck.


	7. Chapter 7

Lifa balanced precariously on the forefront of the ship, rocking back and forth with the rough surf as she watched the town she once called home grow larger and larger on the horizon. They were racing against the dark, heavy clouds slowly rolling in behind them. If they didn't reach the dock before the storm hit, they would have to wait for it to pass. Spending an extra night in close quarters with particularly smelly men was not something Lifa looked forward to. So she leaned against the front railing, ignoring the pain from the wood digging into her stomach as she willed the ship to move faster, praying to the Gods to send them their strongest winds.

Someone must have heard, as the ship moved far more swiftly than it had the whole trip. Soon they were pulling up beside the dock, men jumping out to secure the ropes so their vessel couldn’t drift away with the tide. Lifa waited until they motioned for the others to follow before she flipped herself off the side of the ship, her boots hitting the wooden deck with an echoing thud. She had turned to see who had followed only to be scooped up and flung over a familiar lean shoulder. She huffed and rolled her eyes at her brother’s antics while her lips spread into a smile involuntarily.

It wasn’t until Floki had lugged her halfway through the milling crowd, some people stopping to call out a greeting to them, that she managed to catch a glimpse of a small terrified body amongst the masses. Temperance was huddled in on herself, standing as far to the edge of the crowd as she could while her eyes scanned the surrounding people like they’d attack at any moment. Guilt rushed through Lifa for half a second before Floki jarring her as he leapt up onto a passing farmer’s cart brought her back to reality. As much as she would like to, she can’t constantly be there for the Englishwoman. Temperance had to learn her place amongst her new people and find comfort in Ragnar if they wanted this to work, to find happiness in their situation. Lifa could help, but only to an extent. So instead the blonde allowed her brother to dump her in a pile of crops in the back of the cart and be wheeled away to wherever her sister-in-law would be staying in town.

* * *

Temperance couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. She had hoped Lifa would stand beside her when they landed, but instead she was left on her own as her captors greeted the people waiting for them. She watched couples reunite much more publicly than was decent, children climbing their papas with huge grins, siblings and parents hugging the men with such fierceness, Temperance felt a pang of something she didn’t recognize. Even when her brother, the family member she was closest to, was alive she had never had someone hold her that close, care for her like that. She had loved her parents, but they were King and Queen, meant to be distant and awe-inspiring. They could hardly do that while cuddling every child around them.

Unlike Ragnar.

As far as she could tell, he had no children of his own, and yet the children of his men gathered round him, hopping up and down eagerly as he teased them, gave the boys praises on hunts well done, and doted on the girls’ beauty. He had a soft smile as a small bundle wrapped tightly in a blanket was dumped carefully into his arms to be blessed. The baby practically cooed at him as he bounced on the balls of his feet and Temperance couldn’t help but melt a little inside. Such large, harsh men and yet they held children in a sort of reverence she had never seen at home. The two imagines clashed and yet melded so seamlessly, it left her more than a little confused and flustered.

Sharp blue eyes darted up, away from the baby now being passed back to his mother, and met her gaze. Part of her wanted to cringe away, find somewhere to hide from the penetrating gaze. Part of her wanted to stare back just as determinedly and show she felt no fear, even if that was a complete lie. The result was her eyes hesitantly looking away only to flick back to him a moment later. A smirk slowly formed on his face, making her blush embarrassingly red.

Suddenly he was there, pressed against her side, and his wide warm palm caressed her back through the thinning fabric of her gown. She shuddered at the feeling on his fingers slowly circling, bunching the cotton slightly and sending little tingles through her body she detested on principle alone. She curled into herself automatically, her arms wrapping around her in a tight hug when she noticed people’s eyes locking onto her suspiciously. Ragnar shouted something to his people as his arm slipped around her, securing her against his side while his fingers gripped her side in a vicelike grip. Eyes widened as they darted from their leader to the woman at his side a second before cheers began to go up.

Temperance cringed as men stumbled forward, bowing slightly to her while woman followed suit, though they looked less than pleased. A small child ran up, large grin in place, and lifted a pretty yellow flower to her. She blinked at the little girl for a moment before a tiny smile formed on her face against her better judgment. She plucked the flower from the child’s grasp and brought it up to her face to smell it, reveling in the sweet scent. She wasn’t familiar with this kind of flower, but something inside of her stirred at the scent wafting through her lungs, something peaceful and warm. Something like home.


	8. Chapter 8

Lifa waded through the sea of bodies, ignoring the few wandering hands and shouts for attention as she tilted her head this way and that in a feeble attempt to see over the much larger men and women. She could only catch glimpses of the front dais where Ragnar sat in his throne. A second throne had been erected beside his, draped in furs but distinctly empty otherwise. A man calling out and lifting a mug of ale stepped in front of her - almost on top of her really - once again blocking her view. She huffed quietly in annoyance brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her face where it mingled back into the braids and curls her sister-in-law had wrangled her hair into. Helga had opted to stay at the inn, too exhausted from her reunion with her husband to want to deal with the rowdy revelers. Lifa didn't blame her. The noises issuing from their room had been traumatizing enough; she'd hate to see how the others would react to Floki's wife looking thoroughly debauched.

She managed to squeeze herself through two drunkards, only for her foot to catch on what felt like someone’s boot, sending her tumbling face first to the ground. Instinctively, Lifa threw her hands out, grasping at whatever was nearest to try to catch herself before she became intimately acquainted with the grimy floor of Ragnar’s longhouse. Soft fur and worn leather tangled in her fingers in her attempt to remain upright. A grunt sounded above her but she paid it no mind, concentrating instead on steadying her feet and turning a glare to the man behind her who was quickly retreating. Not that she didn’t recognize that coat. She’d mended that coat many times over the years before she left, and again before leaving Helga at the inn. Her brother would have a lot of explaining to do when she tracked him down.

A very familiar noise of annoyance brought her attention back around to the man she’d latched onto in her bid to stay standing. She gave her family’s signature manic grin and took the horn of wine clutched in Rollo’s grasped. He sighed in exasperation as she tipped the remainders of his drink down her throat before handing it back to him and clapping him in the shoulder. His eyes narrowed, making her smile wider and giggle lightly. She pushed herself back into the crowd away from her childhood friend and toward the Earl.

Ragnar greeted her with a smirk and a hug. “Shield-Sister,” he slurred into her hair, clearly intoxicated. “I have a request.”

“You mean order,” she chuckled, gently pushing him back to his seat. She eyed him carefully, noting that though he had too much wine, his eyes were still thankfully clear of any fog. “What is it, then?”

He leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair, beckoning her closer. She rolled her eyes with a laugh as she dropped to her knees beside him resting her hands on the same armrest. He leaned so close she could smell the sharpness of the wine on his breath. His finger came up to point in her face, nearly touching her nose. She went cross-eyed trying to keep it in sight. He huffed out a laugh while still attempting to keep a straight face.

“You speak her language,” he spoke lowly so no one would hear despite knowing the others were far too interested in making merry to be concerned of their leaders conversations.

“Whose language?” she tilted her head to the side curiously, grinning sharply when he quirked an eyebrow in response.

“My wife’s.”

“She is not your wife yet, dear Earl,” she shifted forward to tap her forehead against his lightly. “And if you truly intend to take her into your marriage bed, you should perhaps learn her name.”

He blinked at her, “Her name?”

“Yes, Ragnar,” she grinned. “Her name. Temperance.”

His brow furrowed, “What so of a name is…Te…Tem…”

“Temperance.” Lifa grinned in amusement at his stuttering. She wasn’t certain if it was just the wine or the inherently English name that was stumping him.

Ragnar shook his head, “I’ll have to think of something different.”

“You can’t just change her name Ragnar!”

“I need you to go back and get her ready,” he continued as if she’d never spoken.

Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly on a sigh. There was no way to make Ragnar see the foolishness in this decision. It would be best for everyone involved if she were the one to assist the princess in any way possible, to prepare her for what was to come. At the very least Lifa truly was the only one capable of communicating with the girl. So rather than arguing, she gave him a hard look, something she had always done when he forced her into a situation she didn’t agree with. It didn’t happen regularly, but often enough for him to immediately recognize it. He smirked at her as she stood, brushing off her knees, and turned away from him.

The door leading to the back, private rooms stood to the left behind the thrones in a more secluded area. Not even the servants would venture close. That was strange considering they still had a princess to prepare, but Lifa assumed as none of them could speak her language they must have given up.

“You!” she called as a slave girl tried to scurry past without being seen. The girl turned back, big brown eyes wide with nervousness as she tried to balance the large pitcher of mead in her arms. Lifa took the pitcher and handed it off to another slave. “Come with me,” she told the girl, turning and walking away without looking back.

Shuffling footfalls followed her through the door and into the dimly lit corridor behind. A handful of rooms lined the hall, leading to the Earl’s personal quarters. A flickering light shone from beneath one of the doors, signaling where the princess had been roomed temporarily until the marriage ceremony later that evening. The blonde didn’t hesitate to push the door open and peer inside, startled when it appeared empty except for the furniture. Lifa blinked into the candle light, wondering idly if the princess had actually gathered enough courage to run away, when she heard it. A muffled sob coming from the other side of the bed. She stepped in fully, motioning for the slave to close the door behind them, and braced her hands on the thick furs atop the bed large enough to fit three Rollos. The first thing to greet her eyes was the top of a bent head, dark brown curls in complete disarray from slim fingers gripping them tightly in fear or frustration or both. Temperance still wore the tattered dress from the voyage over the sea. Her pale skin was raw from harsh winds and smudged from dirty living conditions. Her entire frame shook quietly from suppressed emotions.

Lifa sighed as silently as possible and moved around the bed. It wasn’t until she was blocking the light from the candle across the room that Temperance’s head shot up to blink at her with wide fearful eyes. It was a moment before the Englishwoman recognized the blonde, pink slowly returning to her cheeks in embarrassment at being caught in such a state. She rubbed angrily at the tear tracks etched in her skin and sniffed delicately, averting her gaze. Lifa turned back to the slave girl momentarily, ordering her to draw a bath for the Earl’s future wife and to have her bag from the inn brought here. Helga would know which one she meant.

Once the two women were left alone once more, Lifa lowered herself down onto the floor in front of the princess and waited for her to compose herself before reaching out. Her hand curved over the woman’s slim shoulder, drawing Temperance’s attention completely to her. She didn’t say anything, simply looked steadily at the other woman for a few moments until the brunette nodded once. The two rose from the floor and wandered over to the seats closer to the fireplace on the far side of the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Temperance had never been so grateful for whatever deity (whether her own or one of the so-called gods these barbarians worshipped) blessed her with Lifa as a guide through this unknown world. Lord only knew what would become of her otherwise. As it was, the blonde sat with her, her mere presence radiating a calm sort of command that Temperance had never seen in a woman before. Even the female nobility back in her homeland didn't have the power to strike fear in the servants. Or slaves, as she quickly learned they were here. Yet here was a woman almost smaller than herself giving orders left and right without batting an eye and watching like a general surveying his troops as the slaves scurried about the room.

Temperance didn't have the strength to look at the slaves as they worked, keeping her head bowed over her folded hands. She recognized too much of herself in them. If it hadn't been for Ragnar taking a liking to her, she would have been one of them. That thought alone settled uneasily in her stomach causing her to shift nervously in her admittedly plush seat. Lifa noticed, naturally. The blonde continually glanced her way but refrained from commenting. Gratitude rushed through her once more followed by a small amount of guilt. From what little she'd seen, Temperance knew Lifa could be just as dangerous, if not more so than the men who had murdered the entire population surrounding her home. She was one of them, could have easily joined her fellows in the slaughter. And yet Temperance felt at ease, safe in her presence. It was a betrayal to her father's memory, she was sure.

As the last of the slaves filed out of the room Lifa stood, smoothing out the dress she had worn for the occasion. Temperance still could not bring herself to think of it as her own wedding. She was not fool enough to believe any of her traditions would be included and being married without God's presence hardly felt like a marriage at all. Still, she allowed Lifa to take her hand and lead her to the bath near the fire. There really wasn't any other choice. She was too weak (and not just physically) to fight these people. If they wished for her to rule them, they would have to grow used to a silent queen.

She practiced said silence as Lifa assisted her in her bath. The blonde chatted as she worked the brown curls clean, explaining what she was to expect during the wedding ceremony and what Ragnar would expect of her later in their bed chambers. Temperance blocked out as much as possible. Anymore and she was sure she would collapse once more in fear and anxiety. Lifa either ignored her jiggering or didn't notice as she finished washing the Englishwoman's hair and motioned for Temperance to step out. She was promptly dressed into a fine gown made from heavy fabric she didn't recognize and fur was draped over shoulders. The clothing was startling alien compared to the lighter fabrics of her home and only emphasized how much she truly did not belong.

Lifa quickly finished styling her hair, braiding it so it fell away from her face and down her back. There would be no hiding behind the thick tresses tonight. Jewels far more beautiful than anything she had ever beheld were strung around her neck but otherwise she was without decoration. Lifa forced her to stand and the blonde circled her like a vulture, inspecting her handiwork with a satisfied expression.

“You’re ready,” broke the silence as Lifa took her elbow and forcibly guided her toward the door. There would be no stalling. No running away. This was her life now.

* * *

Admittedly, Lifa felt a small amount of guilt as she abandoned the visibly shaking Englishwoman as they stepped back into the main hall. It was obvious she was trying to put on an emotionless mask, and was failing spectacularly. There was little the blonde could do, however. Temperance had to learn to take care of herself if she wished to survive here. So instead of coddling her and shielding her from the rougher of the men like she would a small child, Lifa slipped into her place between her brother and Rollo, accepting the horn of mead Floki pressed into her hand.

Weddings were never one of her favorite occasions. She could admit as much as any man that they were good fun, and a fairly joyous affair. They were necessary and not altogether dreadful. She didn’t mind attending when the two joining were as close to her as this particular couple was. However, that hardly made up for the fact that they were long and arduous, and filled with unnecessary traditions. Her attention during one of her closest friend’s wedding therefore could be excused. At least to herself. It helped that the brother of said friend was just as distracted, shifting beside her and sighing in irritation often.

Lifa playfully nudged him with her elbow to gain his attention and when his eyes found hers she wrinkled her nose, darting a glance at the couple standing with the Priestess. Rollo’s lips twitched in suppressed amusement but he steadfastly kept a blank face as he rolled his eyes and turned back to pretending attention. Lifa pursed her lips in response, earning a chuckle from her brother whom she hadn’t realized had seen the small exchange. She glanced quickly at him to be sure he wasn’t going to say anything. He grinned and nudged her toward the large mountain of warrior beside her before turning his attention back to where it was supposed to be. She grinned slyly, waiting until she was certain no one would notice their absence.

What exactly she planned on doing once they escaped she didn’t know, but she knew she didn’t want to spend her first night home watching her pseudo brother marry a woman he captured during a raid. That was the farthest thing from enjoyable she could imagine. From the frown on his face, Rollo felt the same. They had both been suffering from Ragnar’s stupidity for too long for one night. It was time for a change.

Circling her fingers around his larger ones she waited until he looked back at her, eyebrows raised in question. She answer was to smile widely, almost manically, and hold up the flagon of mead her brother had stealthily passed to her a moment before. She nodded to the side door where there were the fewest people. He looked from the door to her and an unreadable expression darkened his eyes. She tilted her head curiously, but before she could question him, he was pulling her through the crowd, no one bothering to pay them any mind as they slipped out the door and into the chilly night air.


	10. Chapter 10

She was numb. That was the only explanation for the odd sort of unfeeling sensation that had enveloped her as her soul was tied to the man now leading her down the hall to his, _their_ , room. Not even that thought could send anxiety through her like it normally would. She felt almost like she were someone else as a large warm palm pressed against her lower back, propelling her into the large, dimly lit room.

Only when the door snapped closed behind her did she really come back to herself. She flinched at the sound, her eyes going wide as she spun to face her…her husband. She was married. She was married in the ways of people not her own. Ragnar seemed to loom in front of her, large and foreboding as his ice eyes traveled the length of her body. She crossed her arms in front of her chest self-consciously, slowly taking a step back if only to put more distance between them. He smirked at the movement, causing her to stumble back another step. She didn’t like the dark look in his eyes, unfamiliar and suggestive. It sent a shiver down her spine and heat pooled in the pit of her stomach.

Slowly, he stepped forward, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he deliberately shed the top layer of his clothes. Temperance froze at the sight, her mind refusing to comprehend what was happening as her limbs locked up on her. Soon he was bare-chested – something she was now sure wasn’t all that uncommon amongst these people. She had seen far too many men in various states of undress since she’d been thrown onto that boat. But this was so much more, she decided. Ragnar wasn’t stripping just for the sake of stripping, or for comfort, or whatever reason these men had. There was a purpose behind this that had Temperance blushing to the roots of her hair.

She bit her lip as her head automatically bowed in an attempt to keep herself from staring. She couldn’t deny that he was very nice to look at. Muscles much more defined than the nobility she was used to bulged in places and laid flat in others. Beads of sweat rolled down within the contours, making her mouth go oddly dry. Her skin burned darker when he chuckled at her reaction, closer than he had been before. She jumped back, startled to find him a few scant inches away from her, easily invading her personal space. She continued to stumble back as he grinned at her, only to freeze once more as Ragnar’s hands found the ties on his trousers. Her eyes slammed closed before he could get them loosened completely, her hands covering her red hot face for added protection. Unfortunately, she couldn’t block out the sound of clothing hitting the ground a moment later.

Ragnar scoffed, probably at the picture she was making, blushing blood red with her hands pressed against her eyes, but she refused to budge. The whole marriage was unsettling and hardly felt real. Nothing she knew about weddings and unions had been addressed, and as such she didn’t feel as though she’d been joined with this man today. She had merely been playacting, pretending to get married like when she was a child, playing in the garden with the other nobles’ daughters. So she deserved a moment of childish hiding behind her hands.

Warmth seeped into her front as Ragnar stepped up to her, nearly pressing their bodies together. Before she could react, however, his hands grasped her wrists with a gentleness that startled her. She had been so sure he would roughly grab her and force her to their marriage bed. But all he did was pull her hands off her face and hold them between their bodies. His eyes caught and held hers for what felt an eternity before he dropped his head, chapped lips pressing to one palm, then the other. When he released her, her hands simply fell limply to his chest, the hairs tickling her palms lightly as she sucked in deep breaths to steady herself. Her eyes stayed on where her hands lay, not wanting to see whatever look he could be giving her. Large hands wrapped around her hips and drew her forward until she truly was pressed against him, her hands caught between them.

One hand slowly dragged up the side of her body, sending shivers down her spine, until it reached the side of her neck. Calloused fingers were gentle as he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his darkened gaze. She shivered again, her lips parting on a gasp as he eased closer to her, allowing her time to prepare before his lips covered her own.

Temperance melted. Her body sagged against his, his arms the only thing keeping her upright, while her mind turned to mush. Whatever thoughts that might have passed through her at that moment, whatever panic she was sure she should be feeling, couldn’t take hold as his fingers tangled in her hair, his other arm steadying her around her waist. She whimpered lightly, electricity sparking her nerves as he nipped lightly at her bottom lip. She hardly even realized he was inching her backwards until her legs suddenly hit the side of the large bed on the other side of the room.

Her eyes she couldn’t remember closing snapped open and she immediately began to struggle. Fear and loathing for what she had allowed to happen, what had nearly happened had they continued, scorched through her and she was pushing against him with all her strength before Ragnar could even think of lowering her to the furs on the bed. He jerked back in surprise, his brows low over his eyes as he searched her face for some explanation. Their inability to communicate was never more of a hindrance as Temperance tried to squirm away.

She didn’t bother with saying anything, he wouldn’t understand anyway. Instead, she shoved at his chest, hit it rather hard quite a few times, if she were honest with herself, though he hardly reacted. He was like a wall in front of her, not even pretending to flinch as she lashed out at him. Finally, it seemed he’d had enough, catching her face in his large hands, making her feel dwarfed beside him. He made to bring his lips back to hers, obviously hoping to distract her back into submission. But she wouldn’t allow herself to be caught up in the new feelings he urged from her. Not again. She did the one thing that had seemed to work before, back on the ship.

The resounding smack, made him break away. He gave her an unamused look that failed miserably in the light of the smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. He stared at her, ice blue eyes serious, for too long before he nodded once with a sigh. He moved around her, carefully not touching her but not giving very much space either, and climbed onto the bed. The furs were draped over him and he twisted to blow out the candles on the bedside before he settled down with his back to her.

The only light left to her was the slowly dying embers in the fireplace, just enough to make out the bare minimum in the room. She stood where Ragnar had left her, hair mussed and wedding dress wrinkled. She was unsure what he wanted her to do, but after a few moments, when it became clear he wasn’t intending to do anything but sleep, his breath evening and deepening as he drifted off behind her, she shuffled quietly across the room.

Lifa had promised there would be clothing available to her in the room, but Temperance wasn’t sure where to look for a nightgown. She wasn’t even sure if she felt comfortable enough to dress in the room with Ragnar, asleep or otherwise. She stumbled as she reached where Ragnar had undressed, his clothes catching her feet and making her tumble into a nearby chair. She bit her lip in thought. It wouldn’t be seen as unchaste, as they were married, but it would probably give Ragnar the wrong idea. She sighed. She had little choice left to her. The embers were steadily darkening, leaving the room dimmer and dimmer. Soon she wouldn’t be able to make out the hand in front of her face.

Reluctantly, she reached down, searching with touch for the garment she required. Once found, she stood, the surprisingly soft fabric clutched in one hand as she carefully stripped from her dress. Her eyes stayed locked on Ragnar, to make certain he was really asleep, that he wouldn’t suddenly change his mind and force her to do something she simply was not ready for. She quickly pulled the shirt she’d taken over her head and immediately felt fooling. The fabric drowned her, the sleeves falling far over her hands and the hem dropping nearly to her knees. She had to continually adjust it as it slipped over her shoulder, revealing far more skin than she was comfortable with. She regretted her choice of night clothes instantly. What would Ragnar think when he saw her? Would he see it as some sort of invitation? What would he _do_?

The embers had almost completely flickered out by the time she gained enough courage to slip into the bed beside her husband. The cold room had begun to nip at her exposed skin, chasing her to the protection of the thick furs and shared body heat. She stayed on her side of the bed, however, hoping to not jostle Ragnar into realizing she had joined him. It seemed to work for a while until suddenly an arm was around her waist and a chest was against her back. She stayed as still as possible, praying he hadn’t woken and expected her to…

A low snore had her biting back giggles and she relaxed once more. For tonight anyway, she was safe.


	11. Chapter 11

The flagon was lost somewhere along the way, smashed on the ground from where it had slipped from her fingers. The chill in the air barely pierced the haze of heat that had settled on her body the moment Rollo had shoved her against the wall of a random home and pressed his body against hers. The simple fact that all men towered over her miniscule height had always irked her. Now, however, as Rollo caged her between his arms and ducked her head to press hot open-mouth kisses to the side of her neck, she could hardly complain. In fact, she was a second away from thanking the Gods for gifting her with her small frame when the man surrounding her in heat swooped down and lifted her easily. She stifled a gasp as her skirt was bunched up to her waist and Rollo’s body pressed between her legs, keeping her pinned against the wall.

Her breath escaped her slowly, fogging in the night air as his hands grasped her now bare thighs in an iron grip and urged her to lock her legs around his waist. The position settled her in exactly the place they both craved and his hips jerked forward in response. She gasped again, fingers twisting in the fur lining the coat he still wore. She pushed at it, hoping to make it fall off, only for him to growl low in his throat and pull away so that she was forced to cling on or fall to the ground. She tightened her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck before tilting her head back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Not here,” he growled in response, already walking down the street once more, his hands firmly planted on her ass.

“You started it,” she teased as she leaned forward to nip at the thin layer of skin over his pulse point. His fingers twitched under her skirt and she grinned into his skin, feeling triumphant.

“You’ll pay for that.”

She could only laugh in response. This was nice. Safe. _Familiar_. She had Rollo had spent nights together before. Many, though they were hardly frequent. The easy banter as he held her close made something settle in her chest, a fear she had carried with her since England vanishing as though it had never existed. She had no doubt that it would return with the first light of day, the night being the blanket she had once hid under as a child, sure that monsters couldn’t harm her there. But Rollo would always be there, and even if he returned to his more stoic, distant nature as he was want to do come morning, he would still be there and that was comfort enough.

The inside of Rollo’s home was hardly warmer than outside, the hearth empty of any fire and Lifa remembered they had planned on staying at the Longhouse for the entirety of the night. Though the newlyweds tended to retire rather early in comparison, the marriage of the Earl meant the entire village would celebrating all long night long. Though Lifa could hardly feel left out. Her own plans for the night seemed much more pleasurable than watching her brother stumble about making a fool out of himself until he passed out drunk.

Rollo was hardly gentle as he dropped her unceremoniously onto his bed. She slid back against the furs with a huff, but before she could even shiver at the cold air hitting her exposed skin, the man was hovering over, trapping her once more between his arms. He rested on his elbows, allowing his weight to cover her without crushing. He nipped and sucked at the skin on her neck, creating a mark she was sure would last at least a week until she was whimpering beneath him. She tugged uselessly at his coat, wanting there to be less layers between them, but he ignored her. Instead, he continued to leave a trail of bruise-like marks on her skin while slowly peeling her dress away.

Her skin prickled with rising goosebumps as he sat back, tossing her clothing away. When he didn’t immediately cover her again, she blinked through her pleasure haze to find him kneeling between her legs, staring down at her with a blank expression. She frowned. While the expression itself was not new, the situation was. Never before had he hesitated in taking her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, shivering slightly in the chilly air, and studied her lover. He was staring down at something around her midsection. She froze in realization, glancing down only to confirm her fears. How had she forgotten about _that_? How could she have allowed herself to let _anyone_ see, let alone Rollo?

Lifa scrambled to get away from the man, to find some sort of covering. Her dress lay a few feet away in a heap on the ground. She made to get off the bed, only for an arm to band around her waist and yank her back. She fell onto her back a second before a man was hovering over her. The memories brought harshly to the forefront of her mind by the scars still clearly visible on her abdomen made her lash out unthinkingly. Panic made a lump form in her throat, made breathing difficult as she thrashed, her hands hitting ineffectually against the wall of muscle above her until her wrist were caught in a strong hold and lifted to be pinned above her head. She struggled harder, twisting her body in a desperate attempt to get away. Dimly she was aware that the man holding her down meant her no harm, that he was one person she trusted more than anyone else in the world, that his voice held a small hint of panic as he ordered her to calm down. Her name was repeated several times with no effect to her rising panic.

Finally, he seemed to realize that whatever was happening was out of his control. With a quiet growl that had her whimpering in fear, he twisted around, pulling her with him until she he was seated in the middle of his bed with her draped across his lap. Her breath was still short, the lack of air making her light-headed enough that she could no longer struggle, though she continued to tug uselessly at the hold on her wrists. He switched his hands so he held her arms still with one large hand while the other pushed the coat off his shoulders and swung it around her flushed body. She was wrapped gently in the warm furs and cradled to a wide chest, no longer pinned, simply held. One warm palm brushed soothingly through her hair as Rollo leaned back against the wall, getting as comfortable as possible while he waited for her to relax.

Lifa was unsure how long they sat like that before she sagged in his arms, full awareness coming to her accompanied by embarrassment. She never wanted Rollo to see her like that, never wanted him to see her at her lowest. She had wanted him to continue to believe she was strong, whole. She may have planned on telling him about all of this since the ship, but that was under better circumstances, under her own terms. He would want nothing to do with her now, the weak little girl who couldn’t even protect herself from attack. She was a disgrace to her people.

She hadn’t realized she’d been crying – or for how long for that matter – until she reached up to push hair out of her face and felt how wet her cheeks had become. She sniffled pathetically and pushed away from Rollo. Surely he wouldn’t want to be around her any longer. However, his arms tightened around her waist, keeping her close.

“Have you come back to yourself now?” his words were harsh but his touch gentle as he helped her wipe away the evidence of tears.

She looked down at her lap, unable to meet his eyes, and nodded.

“Good,” he grunted, settling down further on the bed until they were both half laying down, her head tucked against the side of his neck. “Then perhaps you could explain what exactly just happened.”

She bit her lip, sinking further into his embrace. If he hadn’t tossed her aside yet, it was simply because he didn’t understand. Once she told him, she knew she’d have to leave, return to her home, pack her bags and walk away once more. She wouldn’t be able to ever face him again. And if someone else found out…

“Lifa,” his voice was softer than normal, almost like he was coaxing a scared animal. “You’ve never had trouble speaking to me before.”

She had to swallow several times before her voice worked, and even then it was almost too quiet to hear, “Much has changed.”

His hand sneaked under the coat still wrapped around her and settled on her stomach where she could feel his skin catching on the not-yet-healed scars, “I saw.” He paused, perhaps thinking she’d elaborate without prompting, “What does it say?”

Tears welled in her eyes again, glad that he at least wouldn’t be able to read the English words, and she shook her head. She just couldn’t say it aloud. It made it far too real.

“Lifa,” he said her name, almost a plea.

It was struggle, but she couldn’t refuse him. Never could when he used that voice on her. He only spoke like that to her, and only at his most vulnerable moments when they were alone, away from the rest of the world. It was impossible for her to resist the instinct to give him what he wanted, needed, in that moment. And yet, she could speak, couldn’t say the words. Instead she told him one sentence, clearly not the whole story and she knew it wouldn’t be enough, but it was the most she could say in that moment.

“English men do not like to be denied what they believe to be their right.”


	12. Chapter 12

Drifting in a semi-conscious state, Lifa was very aware of the long line of muscled man pressed against her back and thick arm draped over her waist. A moment of panic flashed through her drowsy mind before the events of the night before slowly emerged. She tensed, remembering just how much she had revealed. She hadn’t meant to. After giving what was the most simplified version of events condensed into a single sentence, Rollo had simply stared at her, his eyes hard with a vicious sort of vengeance she had recognized since childhood. She didn’t fear him, could never fear him really, but she was ashamed and knew she didn’t deserve whatever small amount of sympathy he still held. She had to tell him everything, the full truth, and it killed what little was left of her soul to have to do it.

She had closed her eyes tight, blocking out his face as the words tumbled from her mouth hesitantly. Her voice refused to rise above a whisper, but he was pressed so close to her, her body practically engulfed in his, that there was no way he wouldn’t hear. It was a struggle to get the whole story out, to continue as Rollo grew more and more still beneath her, his arms tight around her, almost shielding her as his hands fisted in the coat still around her shoulders. She was so sure that any moment she was going to be tossed out into the cold, left to fend for herself in a world that wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Her tongue continued to move, to spill words in a vain attempt of delaying the inevitable.

Once silence had washed over them, Lifa having finally run out of things to say, Rollo took a deep breath in, his arms never once leaving her, and shifted. Her eyes squeezed tighter shut. She couldn’t look at him when he threw her out. It was just too much. She wouldn’t be able to survive that.

She was so caught up in her own misery, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the scratch of his beard against the side of her neck where he was burying his face. The damp feeling of tears was even more startling. Too confused to move, she instead remained stock still until he gathered himself enough to begin pressing slow, gentle kisses along the column of her neck. She tried to shift away, not wanting to be teased in such a way when she knew it was only a matter of time when she’d have to leave him completely and forever. In fact, she was a little confused he hadn’t already banished her from his sight.

He practically growled as she pushed away from him and refused to loosen his hold. She struggled, pushing more firmly, but that only seemed to aggravate him more, the arms still banded around her waist tightening almost painfully. Tears began to gather in her eyes again and she sagged in defeat, pressing her forehead to his chest with a small sob. Somehow during the struggle she had been twisted around until she straddled his lap, his coat having fallen around her hips so that her bare chest was pressed to his. Sobs continued to wrack her body unwillingly. She couldn’t stand to be seen so weak and vulnerable, especially after having revealed all that she had, but Rollo merely held her tight, not letting her budge and inch as he pressed feather light kisses to her hair. Never in her entire life had she seen Rollo as tender as he was now. Even when they were intimate there was always an underlying harshness to everything that he did, an edge that intimidated most, but Lifa didn’t mind. It was part of him, and seeing him without it was almost as frightening as admitting what she had been hiding since she returned.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night, but neither did Rollo throw her out. Instead, he cradled her close as he carefully slid down the bed until they were both lying on their sides, his head on his pillow while hers rested against his shoulder. His arms stayed around her, keeping her secured to his side as his fingers rubbed calming circles into the skin on her hip and back. To say she was confused was an understatement, but she was also exhausted. The emotions she had recently purged had worn her down and she was on the verge of sleep when she felt fingers gently brush over her abdomen, tracing the scars with a barely there touch. It was enough, though, and her eyes flew open as her throat closed in panic again.

Finally, as she was expecting he would do all night, Rollo moved away from her. Her breath caught on a dry sob, tears no longer able to form, and she rolled away, ready to leave whenever he ordered her to. He startled her yet again when his fingers circled her wrist and tugged her back. His shirt was bunched in his hand as he tugged her closer to him until she sat in the middle of the bed looking at anything but him. Carefully, he eased the shirt over her head and pushed her arms through the sleeves. It was while he slipped his hand under her hair to flip it out of the collar that she managed to raise her eyes to his. There was a softness there that she hadn’t expected and she stilled at the sight. How could he still look at her like that? Knowing everything as he did, shouldn’t he be disgusted by her mere presence?

She hardly had time to think on it as he eased her back down on the bed, pulling her back until she was pressed against his chest. She felt him bury his nose in her hair and sigh contently as he commanded her to sleep in a soft rumble. Her eyes were heavy, exhaustion easily pulling at her even with all the emotions and thoughts raging through her mind.

That night was simultaneously the best and worst night she’d had in months. She may have fallen asleep rather quickly, but she had hardly rested. All night she was disturbed by dreams, images of manacles and laughing Englishmen in their shining suits of armor – a symbol of their absent chivalry – of knives and blood and pain she had no control over, forced their way into her mind past all the barriers she’d built on her voyage home. Her only saving grace was the feel of Rollo, constantly there, holding her. It chased away her demons like nothing else ever had and she feared what would happen when he decided she would have to go.

It wasn’t until the early dim hours of the morning that she finally fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep, only to wake up groggy and slightly disorientated. Once she had calmed herself down enough to relax back into his embrace, she turned her head slightly to glance back at her lover. His lips were parted slightly, his face clear of all stress and worry, the mask he wore to keep anyone from seeing those things. He looked younger, more carefree. Much like the Rollo who had first invited her to his bed, the night before he left on his first raid as a teen. He had been a little older than most, his mother worrying enough about both her boys to want him to wait so they could leave together. He had been irritated, but agreed for the sake of their mother.

So at sixteen he was joining his thirteen year old brother for both of their first raids. Lifa had been still considered untrained at thirteen – though she could easily take quite a few older boys in the practice ring – and had been ordered to stay behind. She had been too young to understand fully what it meant to share a bed with a man as well, but that didn’t stop her. She knew Rollo resented being but second to his younger brother constantly, simply because Ragnar was said to be destined for greatness. So she gave him something Ragnar did not have, something Rollo would never have to share. Something only he could claim to own.

She never regretted her decision until that moment, lying in Rollo’s arms as she contemplated how he would react to her presence in the light of day. They hardly ever lingered whenever they did share beds and after last night she doubted he’d want her to hang around.

Decided, Lifa carefully lifted the arm draped over her and slowly eased to the edge of the bed. The shirt hanging from her shoulders and revealing far more than it hid fell to her knees as she pushed to her feet. Her hands bunched in the material as she hesitated to take it off. It smelt of Rollo, like leather and sweat and something so masculine it made her shiver. She took a deep breath, suppressing as much as she could of those feelings. Now was not the time. She straightened her shoulders. She couldn’t stay. She knew that. Word would get out and…

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back until her legs hit the side of the bed. She bit her lip to stop the frightened sound that threatened to escape at the unexpected touch. The chest she fell back against was warm and wide and far too comforting for her own sanity. Lifa ducked her head, keeping her eyes on her hands still gripping tightly to the fabric of her borrowed shirt. His calloused fingered brushed against her cheek, pushing hair behind her ear, and drifted down to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Lifa,” his voice was a low rumble, soothing.

She trembled slightly, trying to force her feet to carry her away. Away from the eventual pain she knew was coming. Before she could, however, Rollo was slipping out of the bed, nudging her back so he could stand in front of her, towering above her in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. She wrapped her arms around her torso to keep from reaching for him, not wanting to seem weaker than she already did. His hands gently cupped her face, keeping her from looking away as he slowly tilted his head down. Their lips had barely brushed when the door slammed open.

Lifa jumped, still feeling too vulnerable to try to fight the instinct of cowering against Rollo. The man simply clutched her waist, locking her against his chest as he swore at whoever had interrupted them. When no one answered she chanced a peek. Ragnar was scowling at the two, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at Lifa’s odd behavior. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

“What?” Rollo finally demanded of his brother, “What did you want, Ragnar?”

He pointed at Lifa, “You.”


	13. Chapter 13

Her eyes widened slightly and she felt Rollo’s hand spasm against her side before his arms slipped more securely around her. Lifa felt her face heat up as he twisted slightly, partially hiding her behind his bulk. Ragnar raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“What do you mean?” she was almost startled by how steady her voice was.

“You need to teach her,” he growled, striding further into the room before collapsing into a chair at the small dining table in the corner.

Lifa gently patted Rollo’s arm, assuring him she was alright as she slipped away. This was good. A distraction. Something she could focus on that had nothing to do with her disgrace.

“You mean Temperance?” she asked, already knowing the answer. She bent and picked up Rollo’s discarded coat from the night before, ignoring Ragnar’s huff. “What exactly do you want me teaching her?”

“Everything,” he actually sounded exasperated. Lifa turned to fully face him, wrapping the coat around her like a blanket before joining him at the table. “But start with our language.”

Her lips twitched in amusement, “Right. That’s for the best, really. But…” She paused, staring at the man very nearly pouting at her. The man expecting the woman he had stolen to make all the sacrifices for a people she knew nothing of, for the husband she did not choose. There was no doubt that Temperance would need to learn all she could of their people, but that hardly meant her own heritage, her own beliefs should be completely forgotten.

Ragnar groaned, rolling his head back to glare at the ceiling as if it held all the answers, “I know that look. That look always leads to trouble.”

Lifa raised one eyebrow in question.

“Your brother shares that look.”

Rollo snorted, moving to sit beside Lifa fully dressed. The blonde had to force herself not to look over at him, not wanting to be reminded of the past few hours. This was her distraction and she was going to milk it for all it was worth. Her resolve nearly shattered when he slid closer on the bench seat they shared, his arm dropping around her shoulders to settle her against his side. Ragnar’s eyebrow’s nearly met his hairline in his surprise but Lifa managed to keep him on task.

“I will help you on one condition.”

He sighed in dismay, his eyes pleading for her to not say what he must have guessed would be her decision.

“It’s unfair for you to expect so much of her and give nothing in return. I’ll teach her, if you learn her language.”

He gaped at her for a good five minutes wherein Rollo pressed some cold meat toward her, urging her to eat. When he had finally come back to himself, Ragnar scoffed, refusing outright. He didn’t see the point of learning a language no one under his rule would ever know.

Lifa cradled the goblet of wine Rollo was sharing with her, studiously ignoring the butterflies battering against her ribcage in favor of staring seriously at the younger brother, “The point is to show her you don’t think so little of her. She will trust you more if you show you are trying to get to know her rather than have some sort of control over her.” He looked thoughtful, gaze unfixed on a point somewhere passed her head. “Not to mention if you plan on going back to England for the next raids.”

He focused back on her, leaning forward to brace himself on his crossed arms as his blue eyes sharpened, “Explain.”

“You would be able to communicate with the people there, Ragnar. You would understand when they spoke. As much as I’d hate to admit this, you are smart. You can use that to your advantage.”

A smirk slowly stretched across his face as the possibilities formed in his mind. She smirked back, seeing an easy victory. A sharp nod was his reply as he pushed up to his feet, “You will start with her. Today.” When Rollo made no move to release her from his side, Ragnar huffed, “Now, Lifa.”

She rolled her eyes, “Alright. Leave so I can get dressed.”

His lips curled up in a sly grin Floki _must_ have taught him while she was away, “Like I haven’t seen it before.”

Before she could retort, threaten to cut off his most beloved limb, Rollo was out of his seat, fisting his brother’s collar in a tight grasp and shoving the younger man into the wall. Ragnar’s eyes widened in surprise and a hint of fear. Every line of Rollo’s body was tense, fury rolling off him in waves. Lifa sat frozen in shock as she watched, wide-eyed. The elder brother spoke too quietly for her to hear, but Ragnar’s eyes softened slightly as he spoke, gaze flickering between his brother and where Lifa still sat. With a miniscule nod, Ragnar jerked away and out the door.

Lifa was left to glance between the door and Rollo’s back as he visibly calmed himself down, shoulders heaving in deep breaths. She hesitated, knuckles white from her tight grip on the wine goblet, unsure what to do. Over the years it had only been natural for Rollo and Ragnar to butt heads occasionally. She had grown used to it, but not once had she felt so caught in the middle of it, even when she had once or twice placed herself between them to hold off physical blows. She had no guidelines in mind for this moment, and it unsettled her further from what she had already been feeling all morning. So she took the easiest route.

Draining the last of the wine from her cub, she quietly stood and shuffled over to her discarded clothing. Normally she felt no shame commandeering some of Rollo’s clothes for the morning after a night in his bed, but the sickening feeling of worry was twisting in her stomach again, telling her to get out quickly, not to touch anything that was his. He could hardly want her there any longer and she could not force her company on him, no matter how comforting he was unintentionally being.

She hadn’t managed five steps before she found herself swept off her feet, the air whooshing out of her lungs in a gasp. Her hands flailed for a moment before finally settling on Rollo’s shoulders. She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look as he settled her back on the bed much more gently than was natural for him. He simply positioned her how he wished, her head hitting his pillow as he brushed the furs aside. She bit her lip nervously. Once more she felt unsure of herself, of her place here. Where was the malice, the disgust? Rollo was being much more calm and soothing than she had been prepared for. It was making her as nervous as a rabbit and she felt the need to run to the safety of the Longhouse and her new job waiting there. She turned on her side, watching as Rollo built up the fire in the hearth silently. She just didn’t know what he expected of her. For that matter she didn’t know what to expect of him anymore either. He wasn’t doing what she had predicted in the slightest.

Lifa tensed as he disappeared behind her, scared of not knowing what he was doing but not brave enough to turn and see for herself. When he settled behind her on the bed, tugging the furs back over them, she sighed sadly and shook her head, “I must go.”

“No,” he rumbled quietly, his freshly bared chest vibrating against her back. “They can wait.”

“For what?” she whispered, almost frightened of the answer.

Rollo, never one for the fine words his brother could wield like a sword, simply slid his hand under the fur, venturing farther until his palm met the scarred flesh of her stomach. Her muscles twitched at the unexpected contact but she stayed still, hoping he would explain his intentions if she simply waited him out. He pulled her back until she was pressed firmly against him and she felt _exactly_ what his intentions were. She tried to shift away, startled, only for him to shush her quietly, his hand drifting lower. Her breath hitched as his calloused fingers buried themselves in her curls, gathering the wetness that had lingered there since the night before. He always had this effect on her no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. Though he hardly ever used it to his advantage, one of the reasons she had continually came back to him in the past. She whimpered lightly as his hips thrust forward lazily and he hushed her again, pressing a calming kiss to the side of her neck.

His breath was hot as he whispered into her skin, “Let me attend to you.” He punctuated the request with another gentle thrust forward that had her whimpering for a whole new reason.

Her mind was a whirlwind, her desire battling against her left over fears. She knew what would win – what always won when it came to Rollo – but a large part of her was still too afraid. Afraid of this power he held over her, and what he could do with it. If she gave in, gave over completely to him, and he threw her aside like she still expected him to, she had no doubt it would kill her. It would cut up what was left of her sanity, of her soul, turn her to dust and allow the wind to blow her away. She would be nothing more than a miserable shell that didn’t deserve to go on.

Biting back a sob, both from the pleasure his lingering touches were creating and the thought of the lack of a future she would have without him. She had already given far too much of herself to Rollo, any more and he could destroy her entirely. She wanted to push him away, to tell him she didn’t want this, didn’t want him, no matter how much it hurt to lie. But she made the mistake of twisting her head to make eye contact, her mouth half open to say those painful words. She hesitated at the look in his eyes. Rollo was not as heartless as he liked to pretend around others. Lifa knew this, had always known this, but something about the tender affection (she didn’t dare call it anything more) shining down at her had her choking up. She gazed back up at him, trying not to succumb.

“Please,” he sighed, breath ghosting across her face.

That one word had her crumbling. Rollo did not say please. He did not put himself at someone else’s mercy for anything, did not beg. But for her, he had. He had set aside his pride in order to help her chase away the demons nipping at her heels, or at the very least hold them at bay. There was a determined fire in his voice and in his eyes. His hands cradled her against him like she was the most precious treasure he had ever received. How could she resist?


	14. Chapter 14

Temperance paced the length of the room, still draped in the shirt she’d worn to bed. She knew she should change into something more decent, the clothes Lifa promised were stashed away in the closet. Yet somehow she couldn’t bring herself to change. The mere thought of changing into yet more clothing made by a people she didn’t understand in a world where she couldn’t even pretend to belong was more than she could handle. She couldn’t allow herself to be dragged further into this world than she already was.

There was a sharp rap before the door swung open. Temperance had to bite her tongue from the usual scolding she would give a servant for entering without permission if she were still in Northumbria. She wasn’t at home and she had no idea how the people here operated. She nearly sagged in relief when Lifa’s head poked around the door. The blonde stepped in fully, dressed in a man’s shirt and a pair of skin tight trousers. Her feet were bare and slightly dirty from her trek here and her blonde locks were braided and pinned to her head, leaving her features open. Aquamarine eyes studied the Englishwoman carefully and a pale eyebrow rose questioningly, “You’re not dressed.”

Temperance bit her lip, hands fisting nervously in the fabric covering her belly. She had no answer that wouldn’t sound childish out loud. Part of her knew she was being difficult, but really, they had stolen her here against her will. If any of them thought she would be cooperative after that, they must have had too many blows to the head. Lifa studied her for a beat longer before giving a decisive nod and motioned her to follow. Temperance hesitated, not wanting to be forced into anything, especially as she had only just noticed the large leather bag slung over the blonde’s shoulder.

“Sit,” Lifa motioned to one of the large comfortable looking chairs beside the fireplace and dropped the bag beside it. Temperance slid into the seat reluctantly and watched the other woman kneel down to work the fire back up. Temperance leaned forward to study her movements. Knowing to start her own fires instead of relying on servants seemed like a good thing to know.

Lifa gave an unladylike snort, “You’ll hardly need it. You’ll have plenty of servants here as well, you know.”

Apparently she had spoken aloud. She ducked her head, allowing the untamable curls to fall around her face as a sort of curtain.

“Now, would you like another bath? It may help you relax a bit more.” She reached out and tugged on one of the Englishwoman’s curls, watching as it sprang back into place, “May help tame your hair a bit as well.”

“Why are you always so nice to me?” Temperance blurted out, cheeks heating with a blush. Why, oh why couldn’t she keep her thoughts to herself today?

Lifa’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Haven’t we covered this already? On the boat?”

“You never truly answered,” her voice gained strength as Lifa hadn’t immediately dismissed her. “You were distracted…”

“Oh right,” Lifa nodded, remembering how she had confronted Temperance’s father’s murderer. “Well, to answer your question, I am nice to you because I want to be. You have never done anything wrong, have never insulted or hurt me in any way. You have given me no reason to be cruel to you.”

Temperance shook her head, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of you.”

“Not surprising,” Lifa stretched from her crouched position, dusting her hands off on her pants as she collapsed onto the chair across from the brunette. “There are not very many similarities between our people.”

“Are there any at all?” she asked almost desperately. She had to know of anything that could make her feel at home. Anything at all.

Lifa shrugged one shoulder, “A few. Hardly any, but they’re there if you look carefully. But apparently, that’s what I’m here for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ragnar asked me to teach you of our people, so you would understand. Starting with our language.”

“Oh,” her shoulders slumped slightly. Lifa was here to take what little she had left of her culture. She should have known. “I will not be allowed to speak English anymore?”

Lifa grinned mischievously, “On the contrary. You can speak which ever language you like. Ragnar has requested I teach him English as well.”

Temperance blinked at the blonde, waiting for her to start laughing, tell her she was just joking. When she didn’t, the Englishwoman asked tentatively, “Really?”

“He has his reasons for wanting to know your language.”

Temperance frowned, “He plans on going back. He’ll do what he did to my kingdom to someone else, won’t he?”

Lifa looked almost proud of the woman, “Yes.”

The brunette let out a slow breath, dropping her head in her hands as a small headache bloomed at her temples. How could she be a part of that? She couldn’t kill and torture and kidnap. That wasn’t who she was. She wasn’t a monster. She refused to become one.

“You of course, will stay here. Watch over Ragnar’s subjects for him while he’s away. And I’ll stay with you. I’ve had my fill of traveling for quite a while, I believe. But that won’t be for another year. Until then,” Temperance raised her head to watch Lifa drag her bag closer and tug it open. “I don’t think you need to lose _everything_ from your homeland. After all, Ragnar chose you, and Englishwoman, not someone from our own land for his wife. He must have seen something he liked.”

When she straightened, Lifa pulled a long blue gown of English make and style out of her bag, slightly wrinkled put otherwise in pristine condition. It wasn’t as elegant or elaborate as most of the clothes Temperance had owned, after all Lifa would have been considered a peasant in England and unable to purchase such finery. But it was undeniably English and brought tears to Temperance’s eyes as she fingered the familiar fabric.

“I spent a quite a lot of time in England. Enough for me to require some English style clothes. I won’t need them anymore, and though we are not exactly the same size, we’re similar enough for you to fit these, I think.”

Temperance smiled, the first smile she had given since Ragnar’s ship had landed on her father’s shores. “Thank you.”

* * *

Rollo sat against the tree, eyeing Floki as he ran around like the crazy bastard he was, mumbling about which tree would become what. Ragnar sat not too far off, idling whittling on a spare branch Floki had thrown at him earlier for whatever reason. His younger brother’s eyes continued to flick up at him occasionally, making Rollo feel the need to fidget, though he stayed perfectly still. He was a little worried by what exactly had made Ragnar call them together in the middle of the woods and then stay silent, almost bored looking if it weren’t for the mysterious glances.

“What is it you needed, Ragnar?” Rollo finally gave in to the need to growl at his brother. Floki was now swinging from a branch above their heads, content to look at the world upside down.

Ragnar grunted, tossing the half-whittled branch away and stowing his knife in his belt before turning fully towards his brother, “It’s about Lifa.”

Rollo kept eye contact with Ragnar as Floki leapt from his perch to crouch down beside them, “What about Lifa?”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Rollo narrowed his eyes at his brother, not liking his demanding tone.

“Nothing is,” Floki answered, a hard edge to his voice. He never liked being out of the loop, especially if it involved his baby sister.

“Your reaction to my teasing this morning was not normal. You only act that protective of Lifa when something is wrong. What happened?”

Rollo clenched his teeth, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. He refused to break eye contact just as he refused to break Lifa’s trust. She hadn’t wanted to admit what had happened, had been ashamed. Rollo doubted those he called brothers would react the way she seemed to think they would, but she didn’t want them to know and he would not be the one to tell them. That was her choice. He wouldn’t be another person taking away her choices. He wasn’t a monster, despite what some thought.

“Rollo,” Floki growled, making said man look over at him. “Tell me what is wrong with my sister.”

“Nothing,” Rollo’s tone ended whatever arguments they may have had. “She’s fine. Safe. Neither of you need to worry.”

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed, “But something _has_ happened. You wouldn’t have said she was safe if it hadn’t. What aren’t you telling us?”

Rollo chewed on his answer. He couldn’t tell them what had happened, but if he admitted he knew something they didn’t, they would start hounding Lifa for answers. If she saw how concerned they were for her, she may begin to understand she had nothing to fear from them. They would never think less of her for what had been forced upon her in a strange land when she was on her own. It wasn’t her fault, and the combined efforts of the three men could be enough to convince her of that.

“Nothing I am at liberty to talk about,” he finally answered, pulling up an answer Ragnar would normally answer with, just vague enough to claim his innocence while sending the other men on the trail of what had happened. HE could only hope Lifa would see it that way.


	15. Chapter 15

Temperance remembered her lessons as child with no small amount of disdain. It wasn't the subject matter itself that she loathed but rather the way it was taught. She was forced into a stuffy, windowless - so she wouldn't get distracted, her governess had said - room adjacent to the silent library and ordered to read through giant dusty tomes. When she was tested on what she had read at the end of each day, she hardly ever recalled the material, resulting in a scolding and more reading as punishment. Her teachers all agreed that she simply lacked discipline. Truth was, they lacked the ability to keep her entertained. Perhaps if Lifa had been there Temperance would have been more successful. Never before had she been so entertained. It almost didn't feel like she was learning at all.

The two women spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon wandering the town that was now to be Temperance's home, only pausing at an inn to acquire some lunch before setting off again. While the strolled, Temperance would ask what certain words were in Norse (as she learned these people were called) or Lifa would point at something, an object or person, they passed and translate it for her. All in all, it was a good way to simultaneously learn the language and get used to the people while they got used to her. More often than not, she found herself laughing until tears gathered in her eyes with townsfolk looking on fondly. She was more than positive most of that was directed towards Lifa, but it still felt nice not to have any scorn thrown at her for being loud or “unladylike”. When she voiced this, Lifa assured her no Norse would ever care about being ladylike or anything her English upbringing had forced her to be. Here she was free to be whomever she wished, so long as she was strong and refused to bow beneath someone else's belief of who she was. She had to _show_ them who she was and never allow them to see a weakness. In time, the people would love her just as they loved Ragnar, Lifa, and the others.

A part of her still doubted she would be anything but a foreigner to them, but she was willing to listen to Lifa, to learn from her and try. She found herself actually wanting to be a part of these people, if only a little. They all seemed happy and free compared to her own home. Even those considered poor here seemed as carefree as the wealthy. The only thing that made her cringe was the slaves, people who were obviously brought in from other countries, including a few from her own, tied up and dragged about, ordered to do chores and entertain the Norse. She was just happy Lifa seemed to find the practice as distasteful as she did. The blonde assured her Ragnar kept no slaves in his own home and Temperance should never have to deal with anything pertaining to them. Even if an issue involving slaves came up that had to be settled by the Earl or his wife, certain issues could be handled by a trusted advisor in their stead. Ragnar had already asked Lifa to be that advisor for Temperance, relieving her of ever having to face a decision she could not make.

It was late in the evening when they finally started making their way back to the longhouse. The sun was barely peeking over the trees that surrounded the town as the people hurried to gather their belongings (and in some cases children) and retreat into their homes. Lifa seemed completely unruffled by the bustle around them, easily maneuvering around the darting bodies on her way to where Temperance could hear the revelry already beginning. She sighed internally at the loud shouting and off-key singing, the occasional crashes of dishes already becoming uncomfortably familiar within the past day. It seemed when these people celebrated, nothing was safe from their merriment. Her marriage to their leader appeared to be the greatest of excuses for them to act like drunken fools.

Lifa chuckled at what was most likely a disgusted expression painting her face, “Don’t worry. It’s not always like this. Things will calm down again in a day or two.”

Temperance glanced at her from the corner of her eye, “I don’t know how to act,” she admitted reluctantly. “What do they expect from me?”

“Right now? Not much,” Lifa shrugged, throwing an arm around the other woman’s shoulders in a friendly, nearly comforting gesture. “Just…act like a princess. No one will say a word against you as long as you act like you have more power than them. Which, you do.”

Temperance drew in a long deep breath and nodded sharply, squaring her shoulders as she led the way towards the longhouse. Act like a princess. She could do that.

The noise seemed to triple in volume the second she set foot over the threshold. Men she recognized from the raid on her home and many more she’d seen since coming here were gathered in clumps around the room, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and shouting encouragements to two figures that appeared to be in the middle of a heated fight in the middle of the room. Temperance squinted at the two tangled together as they wrestled, vaguely recognizing them from the raid. Lifa breathed a long-suffering sigh from beside her, drawing her attention back to the blonde who was currently pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to fight back a headache.

“Do I want to know how this happened?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure _I_ want to know, but I’m sure we’re about to hear all about it,” Lifa answered before gently taking her by the arm and leading her to where two thrones stood against the far wall. Ragnar was seated in one, his eyes locked, not on the fighting pair, but on the two women slowly making their way towards him. More specifically, on Lifa. Temperance didn’t know how her new friend felt, but she was incredibly glad that the narrowed gaze wasn’t focused on her. He did not seem happy about something.

He rose from his seat as they drew near and reached out a hand. Temperance had to take another steadying breath, remembering what Lifa had told her. Act like a princess. As gracefully as she could, she placed her hand in his, trying to fight the instinctive reaction to pull away, and allowed him to guide her to her seat beside him. After seeing her settled, he turned a frown toward the blonde woman making herself comfortable in a chair nearby, close enough for conversation, a plate of food seeming to magically appear in her hands.

The following words passed between her two companions were completely lost on Temperance. Their body language was more than revealing though. The moment Ragnar first spoke, Lifa stiffened her seat, her eyes narrowing to slits as she glared at the Earl. Ragnar in turn tensed as if for a fight. And fight it appeared they did. Their words were sharp and harsh sounding, far more so than anything she’d heard up to that point.

Suddenly, in the middle of Ragnar speaking agitatedly, Lifa’s eyes widened in horror and she abruptly stood from her seat, her abandoned food crashing to the ground at her feet. The fight came to a stop as well, revealing the two warriors to be the monster who had killed her father and the odd one who had brought her to Ragnar in the first place. She kept her attention on the blonde woman, not wanting to acknowledge the men. Though that became a little harder as Lifa turned her slowly building fury on the monster that managed to tower over her and looked cowered all at the same time. Silence seemed to envelope their little bubble even as the rest of the longhouse continued with their party. The monster reached out and Lifa flinched backward, stumbling away before turning on her heel and rushing from the building. The monster said something Temperance could only assume was a curse as he rushed after her. The odd one frowned after them before slinking away back into the thick of the crowd.

Temperance blinked in confusion. Everything had happened so fast, the words spoken mostly unknown to her, though it was sounding more like a language and less like gibberish since her lesson with Lifa. Still, she felt completely lost as to what had just happened; only knowing that Lifa seemed extremely upset by something Ragnar had told her, and it somehow must have involved the other two as well. And she was the only one that had the ability to explain everything. Temperance was left in the dark with no guide, surrounded by people she didn’t understand and who didn’t understand her. She swallowed thickly, trying not to panic. Or at the very least, not to let her panic show. She must not have done a very good job, because a second later she felt a large warm hand grasp her and squeeze reassuringly. Glancing up she found Ragnar looking at her with a gentle, concerned expression. She gave a small, shaky smile in response, unable to manage more. Luckily that seemed to be enough. He turned back to the party as someone called his name. He didn’t release her hand for the rest of the night, however.


	16. Chapter 16

“You are doing very well,” Lifa smiled at her student a little weakly. It had been a little over a week since their first lesson, a week of languages and customs and getting to understand each other better. A week of completely avoiding Rollo. She was honestly surprised by how easy it had been. Rollo’s presence was so large in her mind, so unavoidable, so insurmountable, it seemed impossible not to be near him or feel him close by. Somehow, however, in the past week she had only glances of him to assure her he hadn’t run off on his own to live in the wild. Not that she thought he would. That was the most ridiculous conclusion to an argument she could think of, something only her brother would follow through on.

She sighed and shook her head, drawing her thoughts back into the present as she watched Temperance make simple conversation with the blacksmith’s wife, requiring little guidance on pronunciation and translation. Once they realized the Englishwoman was learning their culture, the townspeople had begun to warm up to her slowly, aided by her ability to learn so quickly. Already Lifa was hardly needed for more than moral support. Still, the blonde chose to spend her days with her new friend. It made it feel less like avoiding others and more like assisting her fellow female.

Honestly, she wasn’t even sure anymore if she wanted to avoid Rollo. Her anger had subsided faster than normal, her memories of how he had taken care of her after her confessions softening her to the point that she was more annoyed with herself than anyone. Still, she could not stand the thought of him having told their brothers her secret. Even if he hadn’t really, he had implied to them that something had happened to her, and she hadn’t had a moment’s peace since. From their words she knew he hadn’t breathed a word of what actually happened, but the ease he had begun to instill in her with his understanding and acceptance had vanished under the heavy gazes of her brothers.

“Lifa?” Temperance’s unsure voice caught her attention before the slender hand on her arm did. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Lifa scrubbed a hand down her face in pure frustration of her wandering mind, “I’m fine. Just tired I think.”

The brunette tilted her head in thought, light brown eyes alight with concern, “Perhaps you should go home and rest then. I’ll return to the longhouse.”

Lifa raised an eyebrow. Temperance may have felt more comfortable now amongst the people, but being alone with Ragnar or anywhere within the same building as their brothers still made her nervous. That she was willing to go to the longhouse on her own spoke volumes of Lifa’s disheveled mental state.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” Temperance squeezed her arm lightly in comfort. “You’ve seemed more reluctant to be there than I these past week. Ever since your argument.”

Blue eyes widened slightly in astonishment. It still amazed her how observant Temperance was. She wasn’t used to being around women, except for her sister-in-law, so to have a friend who could read her so well was a new and relieving feeling. She’d thought briefly on telling Temperance about her whole ordeal, but refused to add more nightmare fuel to the already turbulent mind.

“It’s alright,” Temperance continued. “You don’t have to tell me about it.”

Lifa took a deep breath, “Rollo discussed with our brothers some private information I wasn’t willing to share yet. It’s caused a bit of a disagreement between us is all. Everything’s fine.”

Again those brown eyes seemed to see right through her, “Is it?”

Lifa smiled slightly, finding it difficult to lie to this woman, “No. But I have faith it will be.”

“How can it if you continue to avoid them?”

She chuckled, “Says the woman trying to send me home.”

Temperance smiled back at her, “You said you were tired. Besides, didn’t you say you were close to your brother and sister? Shouldn’t they know whatever you’re going through? They could help.”

She shook her head, “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve seen my people, the way we live,” she waved a hand around at the town moving around them, people ignoring the English words now that they’d grown used to hearing it. “What do you see when you look at us?”

Temperance took a moment to look around her, at the people shopping the market, slaves working on everyday chores, children playing in the street, animals causing a racket and forcing people to nearly shout to be heard at times. “I see good, strong people who work hard and love each other greatly.”

Lifa nodded, smiling at how far they’d come in such a short amount of time, “Strong. Yes, we are strong. We’re known for our strength. My entire life has been living up to that strength so as not to be left behind by my brothers. I refused to be seen as a useless female. But, what I am hiding from them…it would prove me false. Would validate the men who said I could not become a shieldmaiden because of my size. Who said I would be crushed in battle.”

“Not to your brothers,” Temperance shook her head, so sure of her words. “You’ve proven yourself to them. I’ve seen how much they care for you. They would never shun you, or whatever else you fear right now. They could never think less of you. They love you too much.”

Lifa squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear those words until they were spoken. She struggled to keep her composure as she formed words, “And when did you become so wise?”

The other woman chuckled lightly and shrugged, “I have no idea.”

They both laughed for a moment, both feeling lighter and less burdened then they had in a long time.

* * *

She felt like a child as she lay on her bed, listening to the gentle humming and clinking of pots and pans as her sister-in-law threw together a small dinner for the two of them. Her brother had decided to dine out when it was clear Lifa, though not glaring any longer, would still not reveal what she was hiding. The sad puppy look he sent her before disappearing out the door almost broke her. She never liked seeing her brother upset, and being the one to hurt him was almost physically painful. But she knew she wasn’t ready to speak with him yet, even if her conversation with Temperance made her see that perhaps she was not looking at the situation correctly. She realized now that she had to tell them. At some point. Later. Not now though. Not when she still felt a little too exposed from the earlier conversation.

Helga, though. Helga had always been like an older sister to Lifa, very nearly a second mother. Even as children, Lifa had liked Helga a great deal, following the older girl around when her brothers chased her away, having enough of her bothering them. The older girl would stand up for her, even going to far as to slap her brother and scream at him for at least an hour for teasing Lifa when she had her first bleeding. Her brother later told her that was when he fell in love with Helga, when it became clear she already saw Lifa as a little sister.

Helga would listen to what happened, would understand, wouldn’t shun her. Lifa repeated the words like a mantra in her head as she stared at the flickering shadows on the wall of her brother’s home.

“Lifa?” Helga called her, breaking her out of her silent worry. “Dinner’s ready if you’d like some.”

Lifa inhaled deeply, bolstering her courage as if readying for battle. In a way she was. She’d never felt so ready to fight in her life.


End file.
